


lost and found

by moonmother



Series: magic boys au [2]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Childhood Friends, Demons, Fantasy Violence, M/M, Self-Doubt, doing his best!jaehwan, exorcists!hyukvi, healer!hongbin, hybrid!hakyeon, keo - Freeform, mentions of body image issues, mentions of smoking, not quite a wizard!taekwoon, self-confidence issues, slow-burn, taekhwan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-31 03:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 96,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13966626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmother/pseuds/moonmother
Summary: As promised, Jaehwan decides to rectify the situation with the demon, and Taekwoon decides to rectify the situation with Jaehwan. Plans, as they do, fall apart.(Alternatively, Taekwoon and Jaehwan have to relearn how to be friends.)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been in the makings since 2015 and it has undergone major MAJOR changes, but i finally gave it a proper outline and got it back in order! anyway, this fic will be updated as i finish editing it, which may take some time because i am in school right now/have other projects going on. to understand this fic it is /highly/ recommended you read the first installment because this fic is its direct sequel and references its events. 
> 
> also here's a playlist for this au!: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4WUYsY7spYSJlCU1Eqo6NA
> 
> (this first part is the prologue, taking place roughly eleven years before the events of "take the time.")

Jaehwan wakes to Taekwoon’s touch and whispers in his ear. “––go. We can’t stay here anymore. Jaehwan, wake up.” The aches in Jaehwan’s body have not yet disappeared, and Jaehwan wants to shove the older boy away. It took him ages to fall asleep, the pain keeping him awake well after curfew. 

But he sits up on his pallet, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The bedroom is still cloaked in darkness, stars visible outside the pair of windows, but when Jaehwan’s eyes adjust, he notices Taekwoon hovering at the edge of his pallet. He shifts and moonlight catches on the slopes of his cheeks, on his hands as they shake Jaehwan’s hurt leg. “Did you hear me?” Jaehwan looks past him to see that none of the other boys are awake.

“Taekwoon,” Jaehwan mumbles. His thoughts order themselves in a slow manner. _Taekwoon––what’s going on––why…._ “What time is it?”

Taekwoon grips his leg harder and gives him a more fervent shake, as if that will dislodge his sleepiness. “Wake up. We gotta go.”

Jaehwan grits his teeth together as Taekwoon latches onto the bruises, and the twist of pain on his face makes Taekwoon pause and give a hasty apology, already having forgotten about Jaehwan’s injury. 

Once the throbbing subsides, Jaehwan matches Taekwoon’s whisper and asks, “Go?”

“Now. Jaehwan, please.”

The desperation in his voice shocks Jaehwan. It scares him. He whispers back, “I’m awake. What’s going on? What’s wrong?” His hand brushes Taekwoon’s shoulder, and what he expected to be his nightshirt is actually the coarse material of Taekwoon’s jacket. Jaehwan looks down to see Taekwoon also wearing shoes, a bag beside him tied shut.

“I’ll tell you when we’re out of here; just––”

“Okay, I’m going.”

“Get your shoes. Change. Quick.”

Jaehwan changes in record time, and as he discards his pajamas, Taekwoon takes them to put them in what Jaehwan recognizes as his own backpack. Then he starts packing the things behind Jaehwan’s pillow––the little trinkets he found, the dead amulet Taekwoon gave him, and his stuffed puppy doll. His sole possessions.

“Here’s your shoes,” Taekwoon whispers, too loud. One of the boys rolls onto his side. They fall silent, freezing on spot, to see if the boy will further stir but after moments of nothing, they continue. “You have anything else you want?”

This is familiar. Jaehwan remembers that early morning four years ago, stars still in the sky, when they crept out of the orphanage. At the time, Jaehwan had only his puppy doll and Taekwoon, and they walked forever it seemed but never once did they turn back. 

Jaehwan knows that if Taekwoon truly means for them to leave this morning then they will not return. 

Jaehwan finally answers, “No, there’s nothing else.” 

Taekwoon tugs on him to stand up and gives him the backpack to hold. He radiates with barely contained energy, like a cord pulled taught and waiting to snap. This isn’t like him. Jaehwan gets to his feet slowly, using Taekwoon’s outstretched hand to help him up. 

Now that everything is in order, it is time to go. 

They toe around the pallets, ten sleeping bodies oblivious to their intentions. The old house’s floorboards creak as they move to the door, but the boys remain asleep. As Taekwoon and Jaehwan creep into the hall, a chill passes over Jaehwan. In the night, all the lamps are doused, enhancing the house’s imposing nature in its old grandeur. Taekwoon summons his magic to his fingers, a little blue light swirling around his fingertips, so they can see. Sculptures of great wizards and warriors line the hall, but in the sparse lighting they appear ghoulish, expressions frozen in stiff battle cries.

Jaehwan never grew accustomed to this school, and the subject nor people grew accustomed to him either.

The plush patterned rug softens their footsteps, and Taekwoon leaves for the staircase. He does not run but walks with power behind every step, but he takes the light with him. Jaehwan nearly trips over his own feet to catch up. Though he can no longer see them, he can feel the stares of the statues, and he shivers with the passing of each one. 

“Jaehwan,” Taekwoon mouths, gesturing adamantly with his hands. He waits at the top of the staircase, hair in his face and hands calling for Jaehwan. Taekwoon waits but his impatience is evident––like a fire burns at their heels, but Jaehwan is too slow to realize they are burning. But Jaehwan is hurt, bruised and aching and unable to match Taekwoon’s urgency. Although, it is true that even on the best days he cannot keep pace with Taekwoon. 

Only when Jaehwan catches up do they descend the oak staircase together. At the bottom, they watch their step, careful on the bare wooden floors. Jaehwan fears what the housekeepers will do if they find them trying to leave. Jaehwan wipes his sweaty palms on his pants.

Taekwoon leads him to the front entrance, and Jaehwan stops in his tracks, staring at the doors. “Through the front?” 

Taekwoon ignores him. He kneels in front of the lever-shaped door handles, surveying them with the light of his magic. Jaehwan wants to ask more, but he keeps his mouth shut, knowing it will break Taekwoon’s concentration. Instead he glances into the darkness, on the lookout and hoping to see nothing. No swing of lantern, no figure roused from sleep. Jaehwan clenches and unclenches his fists. He could summon up his own magic for light. Something as simple as that would work, right? 

Jaehwan ponders it not for long before Taekwoon interrupts by whispering a long stream of words. At first, Jaehwan thinks they are directed at him, but then he turns to find Taekwoon pulling on one of the doors, clearly unlocked. 

Jaehwan cannot help his incredulity. “When did you learn that?” He remembers to be quiet, but his wonder almost forces the words out louder than intended.

Taekwoon stares at the open door. “A few months ago.”

Their master laid the spellwork on this door himself. The door requires no physical key but spells to access it, and they had not gotten this far in their lessons yet. As Taekwoon waves him closer, Jaehwan thinks that his surprised reaction was silly. Taekwoon has been advanced since their first day. When they interviewed for this school, they both showed signs of potential, but while Jaehwan’s has remained stunted, Taekwoon’s has flourished. Even among the other students, Taekwoon is the best of them all, and it makes sense that Taekwoon has surpassed their current lessons.

Taekwoon stands. The blue magic flickers along his fingertips. “It was sloppy work, but we can get out now. We need to be quick because the master will be able to tell.”

“If he catches us, we’ll be punished.” He trusts Taekwoon, but another punishment would be unbearable for Jaehwan. Their master is the source of his current injuries, received due to the master’s belief that Jaehwan’s inability stems from a mixture of laziness and insubordination. Jaehwan had swallowed the shame as he tried to confess that he is terrible simply because he is terrible, but their master would not believe it. Jaehwan’s interview proved that magic resided within him, which meant Jaehwan simply was not trying.

Taekwoon turns suddenly, hand shooting out to grip Jaehwan’s arm. The magic glows between them, painting the older’s face in a swath of sapphire-tinted light. Taekwoon’s magic warms Jaehwan’s skin, his grip strong. Long ago, they decided that Taekwoon was the older between them by a difference of two years. Taekwoon arrived at the orphanage as a baby with little identifying information, but the caretakers knew how long he had been with them, so when Jaehwan arrived, the child based his age off Taekwoon’s.

But even if the numbers are wrong, Jaehwan is the one who looks every bit his twelve years. Small and angular, he looks so far from the brink of growth that Taekwoon has begun to experience of late. Jaehwan took notice of it weeks ago but pushed to the back of his mind, unimportant in the face of other things. Now, in the doorway of their school, Taekwoon’s magic seeping into his skin, does it beg Jaehwan’s attention. 

Why does Jaehwan feel so far behind?

Taekwoon’s voice is low, no longer a whisper, when he vows, “He won’t ever hurt you again.”

Such conviction topples Jaehwan’s fear of being caught. He believes Taekwoon, nodding and answering, “Okay.” 

Taekwoon releases Jaehwan, taking his magic with him. “We do need to hurry, though. Can you climb the gate?” 

“You want to climb the gate?”

“I’ll help you over.” 

The tall iron gate looms across the yard. Jaehwan does not think it will be his pain that prevents him from climbing the gate but a new fear––a fear of falling. He chews at his lower lip. “Why can’t you unlock that one?” 

“I don’t know the spells to do it. Like I said, I was sloppy with these doors and climbing and falling out a window isn’t an option. The gate probably has a thicker layering of spells, so undoing them without alerting the master would take hours. At least if we climb over, we can get out quickly. We only have an hour or two before the housekeepers arise and possibly another before they realize we’re gone.” 

Jaehwan gulps. “Even if we climb it, he’ll know.” 

For the first time, Jaehwan watches Taekwoon’s conviction flicker. “I’m counting on the alarm only rising if someone from outside were to climb over. He wouldn’t expect his students to get past the front door. Besides, I’m sure he’d never believe anyone would want to leave.”

Betting on their master’s ego seems risky, but Jaehwan has no other solution to offer. He gives Taekwoon a firm nod. “Then let’s go.” 

The iron gate is the only glimpse of the outside world the students have seen in two years. The street peeks through, and when lessons are held in the yard, Jaehwan has, more times than he can count, lost concentration as he watched life outside. And those who live in the city ogle whenever they pass the gate. “A new batch!” they like to remark as they stare at the students in their dust-colored robes. Jaehwan has never been to a zoo, but he believes he knows what one is like. 

Taekwoon scrambles up the gate first and waits at the top. He looks so at ease to be so high off the ground. Jaehwan scowls, placing one hand then another on the gate, and begins to scale it. The iron is cold to the touch, and his body hurts, but he keeps his eyes fixed above him on Taekwoon. It feels like an eternity before he is in Taekwoon’s reach. When he is, the older latches onto his shirt and helps haul him up to the top. Once there, Taekwoon makes the quick descent, dropping the last few feet.

“C’mon, Jaehwan.” He whispers no longer, and even a smile curls his mouth. He still sings with that energy, but now that freedom is almost to be had, does it infect Jaehwan. He sits atop the gate, feeling at once too small and too big for the perch. All he has to do now is climb down. Just climb down. 

“I’m coming.”

“I’m right here,” Taekwoon assures. But assurance will not help Jaehwan find footholds. The younger makes slower progress going down, his teeth gritted and knuckles white on the rungs. Taekwoon waits, though, with hands outstretched. Soon Jaehwan’s feet hit his palms. “See. Not that far from the ground now.”

Jaehwan lowers himself slowly, and Taekwoon’s hands come up on his legs, then on his waist. Then he has both feet on the ground. Taekwoon nods, gives a small pat to Jaehwan’s shoulder––his way of saying “good job”––and races down the sidewalk. Jaehwan is once again several steps behind. 

It feels odd being outside the school. The walls that surround it have done well to block out any glimpses of the outside. It looks the same as it had when he and Taekwoon arrived for their interview––same street, same trash gathering at the edges, same worn buildings––but armed with the knowledge that they are leaving and will never return, it sparks a remarkable thrill through Jaehwan.

Then a thought creeps in. What if their master sends someone for them? Jaehwan stops in place. And what if he himself comes? 

These dark streets may welcome Jaehwan and Taekwoon back, but they may not be able to keep them.

“Taekwoon.” 

The older turns, notices the distance between them, and jogs back to Jaehwan. “What is it?” He is still breathless from their escape. Jaehwan can see that he itches to keep going. 

“What if he comes for us?” 

“I told you he––”

“But––”

“I burned our papers, Jaehwan.” Taekwoon’s hands no longer glow with magic, but the touch of his hands that goad Jaehwan into walking, to keep going forward, still feel warm with it. 

Jaehwan lets himself be led onward but does not cease his questions. “You burned the papers? How?” 

Taekwoon slides a look to Jaehwan, as if not sure how to say what he needs to. “I– I’ve had a weird feeling about him for awhile now. The inspection today, though––that’s what pushed me. You know the inspector?”

Of course. Their master lectured Jaehwan for almost an hour for performing poorly in front of the inspector, emphasizing how embarrassing Jaehwan’s lack effort was. “Yeah. What about him?”

“I listened to their conversation. Afterwards.” Taekwoon wears a grim expression as they walk in stride. They keep close to the inside of the sidewalk, shoulders pressed together, although they share it with no one else. The sky has lightened bit by bit since they left their pallets behind, but it is still too early for people to be awake. 

Taekwoon continues. “He was telling the inspector about our service contracts with him, and he mentioned how…you did.” 

Jaehwan’s cheeks flame. “Yeah, and?”

“He mentioned the possibility of– of kicking you out of the program. Our contracts didn’t cover our expenses, Jaehwan. We’d been lied to.” 

“But he said….” 

Taekwoon grabs hold of Jaehwan’s sleeve, like the younger boy might leave his side. “He was banking on our talent when he accepted us, so he’s been covering what we owe him out of pocket.”

Jaehwan wants to stop walking, but Taekwoon keeps pulling him forward. “He– he never told us anything about that.” 

“Right.” Taekwoon nudges Jaehwan with renewed ferocity. “He was telling the inspector, though, because––well, he wanted to know what would happen to you.”

“And what would’ve happened to me?”

Taekwoon swallows and forces out, “Housekeeping. To pay back the money, he’d have you be with the housekeepers.” Taekwoon grips Jaehwan’s sleeve tighter. “It’s messed up.”

Their master had told them nothing of that. After interviewing them, he had presented the situation lightly, like he was doing them the service. He fed them each biscuits and had them sip on tea. Mull over how they would benefit from his tutelage. And upon agreeing, no drawbacks to be seen, he had the boys sized and given them their student robes, finally having them sign that they had agreed. The paper had been a maze for Jaehwan. He did not know how to read or write anything other than his name. Taekwoon knew, but if it was written plainly for him to understand, he would have never let them sign.

Jaehwan felt a stab of betrayal. He had no affection for the man, but Jaehwan never expected him to have tricked them. And since Taekwoon was doing so well it would be just Jaehwan who had fallen into servitude. Jaehwan looks over at him. Taekwoon’s overgrown hair hangs in his eyes, curling at the ends, but not because they weren’t cared for at the school. All the boys are well-kept, fed and dressed and bathed adequately. Roofs to sleep under and food in their bellies. Life there differed well from life on the street. Taekwoon sentenced himself to a life on the street with Jaehwan rather than completing his education and leaving Jaehwan to worry about the debt he owed. 

“How much did we owe?”

“Well above what you would have made trying to pay it all back.” Taekwoon scowls, finally letting Jaehwan go. “I found the contracts before I woke you. We would have left just after curfew if it hadn’t taken so long, but at least they’re gone.” 

“You could’ve been great.” 

“Huh?”

“At magic. You really have a talent for it. Sorry you had to give it up.” 

Taekwoon shrugs. “My talent will get me other places. If you’re good enough, even unschooled magic-users can get employed, and I know enough to find work until then.” He speaks with that same certainty that swayed Jaehwan earlier. His voice has a knack that melts worry and paints troubles in lighter shades, as surmountable things. Jaehwan has Taekwoon. Together they will figure it out. 

“Where should we go?” Jaehwan shifts the backpack higher on his shoulders. 

“As far from that school as we can.” 

They both are quiet as they continue to walk, and Jaehwan notices that the farther they get from the school, the less agitated with energy Taekwoon becomes, more of his at-ease self. He slides back into a calmer state, but Jaehwan thinks he will forever remember that moment in school’s doorway with the magic bringing them together. 

He swallows. “Taekwoon?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks for everything.” 

Taekwoon’s eyebrows scrunch together, a funny expression on him. He opens his mouth to speak then closes it and tries again. “You’re my friend,” he says. He sounds perplexed, like Jaehwan thanking him was something unnecessary, and Taekwoon’s actions, of course, were to be expected. 

But Jaehwan has never heard Taekwoon say the word “friend.” Jaehwan sees Taekwoon as a one, yet he always wondered if the feeling was returned. Often, Jaehwan thought Taekwoon considered him more as an annoying add-on, only staying with him because of lingering obligation. At the orphanage, Taekwoon needed him. At school, he did not. Because of class and the other boys, Jaehwan had felt himself creep into Taekwoon’s shadow, and there were few chances to talk to the older. 

“I’m your friend,” Jaehwan states, the fact feeling good in his mouth. The confirmation sends a happy feeling twisting in his stomach, and he lets a smile loose. “You’ve never told me that before.” 

“I didn’t think I’d have to.” Taekwoon scoffs, using a gentle hand to push Jaehwan’s head. He lets out a short laugh. “We’ve known each other this long, and you think we aren’t?” Jaehwan’s grin causes Taekwoon to offer a matching one, and the two boys soon begin to laugh. The school is a distant worry, the dawn blooming on the horizon promising that it will become a memory just like the orphanage. 

They walk down the sidewalk, not knowing a direction for their feet, but filled with determination to go anywhere but back.

 

Taekwoon clutches Jaehwan’s wet shirt, resolute. The porch shields the night rain, but the long walk here soaked both boys to the bone. In spite of Taekwoon’s grip, Jaehwan slides to the floorboards, his teeth chattering. Taekwoon squints to read the numbers on the metal plaque beside the door. He pounds his fist on it again. They have the right house; they definitely have the right house. 

Taekwoon glances at the windows, at the red shutters, to see if there is any movement inside. 

Jaehwan’s small breaths puff in front of his face. He brings his hands together to rub warmth back into them and chatters, “I don’t think h– he wants t– to talk, Taekwoon.” 

The older grits his teeth together. Shivers run through his body, and he shakes but never does he let go of Jaehwan’s shirt. “Jaehwan, stand up. You need to keep moving.”

“I c– can’t.”

Doubt creeps into Taekwoon’s mind for the nth time since leaving the school. He and Jaehwan would have been separated, but at least they would not have frozen to death. Taekwoon stares at the top of Jaehwan’s wet head. No––if he is rejected now, then Taekwoon will figure something out for tonight. He will not let them sleep in the cold again. 

Shocks of pain run through Taekwoon’s fist where it hits the door. 

Jaehwan’s face rests against Taekwoon’s leg. He mumbles, “I’m fr– freezing.” 

“Jaehwan, please––”

The front door opens with a terrible noise, like someone is trying to rip it off its hinges. Taekwoon flinches at the noise. 

“Who the hell is out here at this hour?”

In Taekwoon’s back pocket is a folded article of Heo Chanwook, the Wolf. The featured picture, black and white, differs from the version Taekwoon stands just a foot away from. The one in front of Taekwoon grips his doorway with a smoking roll of something between a pair of his gnarled fingers. The man shakes the sections of hair that didn’t make it into his ponytail out of his face as he turns his bleary eyes to the two dripping boys on his porch. The length of his goatee hints that he has not seen a razor in some time. 

Taekwoon tries to pull Jaehwan up, but the younger has lost all will to move. 

The Wolf looks at Taekwoon then at the boy by his feet. The man settles in his doorway, leaning on the frame as he brings his roll to his mouth and takes a deep drag. He blows out purple smoke. “Let me say it again: Who are you two?”

Taekwoon clears his throat. “I’d like to be your apprentice.” 

The Wolf barks a laugh. “Bullshit.” But he does not move. He takes another drag and nods his head into his house. “Get inside before I get crucified by the neighbors.” He disappears through the doorway, and Taekwoon pulls on Jaehwan again. Now granted entry, Jaehwan moves with remarkable speed. The younger darts ahead of him into the house, and Taekwoon has no time to second-guess his decision. He follows. 

Through the front door is a large, open room separated by furniture rather than walls. A set of couches marks the living area and a table to the back of the room acts like a dining area. A small doorway at the table’s rear looks to lead to a kitchen, but Taekwoon cannot be sure. To his far-left is a staircase––a second floor. Taekwoon eyes search the room, but he cannot see another exiting door. 

“Mm, who is it?”

The sleepy voice draws Taekwoon’s attention to the stairs. A woman stands there with a blanket swathed around her, only her head visible. Her half-shut eyes prevent her from properly seeing Taekwoon and Jaehwan. 

The Wolf stands inside the doorway, closing the door as Taekwoon moves into the entryway. “Couple of kids. Trying to drown out there.”

The sleepy-eyed woman perks up immediately. She blinks and loses part of the grip on her blanket. “Oh no. Oh my goodness.” 

Taekwoon shoots a glance at the Wolf to see him roll his eyes. Taekwoon clears his throat and squares his shoulders, standing tall. He imitates the stance the other schoolboys would make when they had something to prove. Facing the Wolf, he demands, “Take me on as your apprentice.”

The Wolf, slouching against his door, blows more purple smoke into the air. He looks down his nose at Taekwoon. “Alright. You first.” He lays a hand on Taekwoon’s shoulder. 

Taekwoon reels out of reach, heartbeat spiking. 

The man’s hand lingers in the air between them, where Taekwoon’s shoulder was. The woman makes a small, undeterminable noise, much like a gasp, still standing on the stairs. The Wolf slowly brings his hand back to his side; he takes the smoking roll out of his mouth. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“They need dry clothes,” the woman remarks. “And food. And– and….”

“Yeonju, take the other boy to find something dry to wear. I need to talk to this one.” 

Taekwoon looks back at the Wolf then to the woman. They both seem to be communicating with their eyes through looks and the subtle lowering of brows. The woman, Yeonju, descends the staircase, her blanket falling off her shoulders to reveal her flowered nightgown. She approaches Jaehwan but does not try to touch him. She gestures up the stairs, passing him her blanket. 

Jaehwan turns his wide eyes to Taekwoon. 

Taekwoon does not want Jaehwan leave his sight, but Jaehwan does needs to change. He stiffly nods. 

Jaehwan and Yeonju climb the staircase, and Taekwoon watches as Jaehwan’s heels disappear to the second level. As soon as they leave, the Wolf moves past Taekwoon to snatch an ashtray from the end-table by the couch. The ashes fall off the end of his roll into the dish as he mutters, “Alright, follow me.” He does not wait to see if Taekwoon chooses to or not and drifts through the doorway thought to be the kitchen. 

His suspicions are proven correct. The Wolf––the wizard that helped create New Haven’s floating garden, the wizard that saved a whole street from collapsing, and the first wizard to be featured on the data cards that come with Golden Bear candy bars––leans against his sink and blows another puff of purple smoke into the air. “This is as much privacy as you’re gonna get.”

The cramped kitchen puts Taekwoon within close proximity to the wizard. The sink and oven take up most of the space, but Taekwoon finally spots the back door he was looking for. He directs his gaze back to the Wolf. 

Taekwoon is not sure what he expected but negotiating his apprenticeship in the Wolf’s kitchen never came to mind. Taekwoon does not know what to say. He had only planned as far as making it to the Wolf’s house.

“Clock’s tickin’.” 

“I––”

“How about I start.” The wizard snuffs out his roll, and smoke and sparks fizzle in the dish. He sets it aside on the counter. “Where are you from?”

“New Haven.”

“Okay, great. What’s your name?”

“Taekwoon.”

“And your brother’s?”

“He’s not my brother.”

The Wolf raises his eyebrows. 

“His name is Jaehwan.”

“So where are your parents? You and your friend have nowhere better to be?”

Taekwoon presses his lips together. 

The Wolf waits for an answer. 

“I want to be your apprentice.” 

“I know that, kid, but I need to understand why.” The Wolf’s gruff voice lowers a notch as he asks, “Did your parents… Did they hurt you?” 

Taekwoon hears a thump from upstairs, and his eyes dart to the ceiling. 

The Wolf’s gruff voice explains, “Yeonju takes in too many strays. She’ll fix him right up, so don’t worry about him. Talk to me.” 

Taekwoon looks the older man in the eye. 

“Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

He nods. “So what are you two running from?”

Taekwoon licks his lips. “If you tell on us––”

“Just tell me.”

“We were students at the school on Lovely Street.”

The man laughs. Loudly. “Dickbag’s school? That’s a riot. That place gives me hives.”

Taekwoon pushes on. “I’m decent at magic. I’m mostly self-taught, but I’d like to learn more.” He balls his hands into fists. His wet clothes have created a puddle on the floor and a violent shiver racks through him. “I know I can’t be a real wizard without certification through a formal school, but I’d– I’d like to do something with magic. I love it.” 

The Wolf wraps his robe tight around himself, folding his arms over his chest. “And what if I said that I would take you on but you only? Hate to be frank, but being on candy cards only makes so much money.”

Taekwoon’s stomach sinks. Not take Jaehwan? “Please, he– he doesn’t have to be your apprentice, too. We’d do work around the house. Whatever you needed.”

The Wolf holds out his hands, palms open. “Run your magic through me. Give me a jolt.”

“What?”

“Like a weather vane.”

Taekwoon stares at the hands for a moment, then lays his palms on the rough ones. His hands glowing blue, Taekwoon tenses every muscle in his body, magic running through his inner gates and pouring through his hands. 

The Wolf breaks the connection by jerking his hands away. “Yeah, definitely a zinger.” He rubs his palms together. Shifts his weight from foot to foot. “And you want to be _my_ apprentice?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And it’s a two-for-one sort of deal?”

“Yes, sir.”

The wizard waves a hand. “Send in the other kid. I need to talk to him.”

Taekwoon opens his mouth then closes it. If he argues, then he could hurt their chances more. And what else can Taekwoon say? Clenching his fists, he walks out of the kitchen. 

Jaehwan marches down the stairs. Taekwoon glimpses the patterned pants from under the thick blanket Jaehwan has twirled around himself, much like the lady,Yeonju, did when they first arrived. His hair has been dried with a towel, now only slightly damp, and Taekwoon tells himself that if anything else, tonight was not a complete waste. 

Taekwoon says, “He wants to talk to you,” and points to the kitchen. 

Jaehwan skips the last step, jumping to the bottom. “Okay.” He jerks his finger up the stairs. “You should see Miss Yeonju. I think she’s waiting.”

Taekwoon watches the younger boy walk to the kitchen, his feet tangled in the too-long pants and blanket. He edges into the doorway, asking, “You wanted to see me?”

Taekwoon looks away. 

He peers up the staircase, thinking about the lady. Taekwoon, for a moment, considers staying in his wet clothes, but then he thinks of Jaehwan and takes a deep breath. He climbs the stairs. 

Taekwoon reaches the top to see four doors. When he sees that the fourth door to his left has been left ajar, he decides that it may be his best bet. He toes forward. He knocks lightly. “Miss Yeonju?”

The door swings open wider. “Hi, dear.” The woman smiles at Taekwoon, clothes in her arms. “I was just trying to find clothes that would fit you. You’re a little taller than your friend, so I’m sure you’ll have no problem. Here you go.” She passes Taekwoon the clothes and squeezes by to bring him to the door facing the staircase. “Here’s the bathroom. Let me know if something doesn’t fit, okay?”

Taekwoon curls the clothes to his chest. “Um….” 

“When you’re done, hand me your wet things, and we’ll get those dried out, okay?” Yeonju smiles at him again, and Taekwoon finds himself walking into the bathroom without any further hesitations. He locks the door behind him. 

Taekwoon peels off his pants and shirt, both sticking to his skin and pretending to not want to come off his body. He dumps his clothes into a pile on the floor beside his boots. Taekwoon shudders as the cold air meets his skin, goosebumps erupting all over. Standing over the sink, Taekwoon wrings out his hair the best he can and manages to find a brush to help get it out of his face. Taekwoon runs his hands through it, willing his magic to come to the surface and dry his strands, but nothing happens. He huffs a sigh. Whether the Wolf takes him or not, Taekwoon knows what his next goal is. 

He pulls on the clothes Yeonju found for him, and while the shoulders are too roomy and the pant legs are too long, they work. 

He exits the bathroom and finds Yeonju back in the bedroom, but this time with the door wide open. Taekwoon stands on the threshold and debates whether to knock or not. Her back is turned, adjusting what looks to be a drying rack. The room is fairly plain. The drying rack is near the end of the bed to one side of the room, and on the other is a dresser with only a few items on its surface, a small bag sitting on top. Taekwoon’s eyes drift to the floor to spot pantyhose and a pair of baby-blue flat-heeled shoes that look more like slippers lying in disarray like they were taken off without care. Now that Yeonju has surrendered her blanket to Jaehwan, Taekwoon can tell that her nightgown matches the shoes on the floor. 

He clears his throat. “Miss Yeonju? Here’s my clothes.”

She turns around, clapping her hands together, and bustles to Taekwoon’s side. She takes his shoes from him first, still dripping water on the floor, and in the other arm takes his clothes. “Excellent,” she says. “Are you hungry? I’m sure you boys would like something.”

“Oh, uh… Well, I don’t want to cause you any trouble.” As it is almost midnight, Taekwoon hates to impose, but if the wizard rejects them, then he and Jaehwan should eat something while they can. Meals have been scarce in the past two weeks since leaving the school.

Yeonju replies, “It’d be no trouble at all.” She hangs up Taekwoon’s things on the drying rack, and Taekwoon now sees that Jaehwan’s have already been laid out. Yeonju then bustles past him, and he follows her down the stairs. 

Taekwoon gets to the bottom and pauses. Jaehwan’s voice emanates from the kitchen but none of his words are discernible. 

Yeonju turns back to Taekwoon, halfway to the kitchen. “Honey, I think we have soup; would you like soup?”

“Whatever you have is fine, ma’am.”

Yeonju enters the kitchen and asks, “Soup? You want soup?”

Taekwoon cannot see what is going on, but hears the Wolf ask, “What, out of the ice box?”

“Well, where else?”

A pause and then Jaehwan darts out of the kitchen. Taekwoon realizes that Jaehwan’s leg must not be bothering him anymore, seeing him skip around on it like that. Jaehwan comes to a stop in front of Taekwoon. “Hey.” 

The back door bangs shut, Yeonju and the Wolf’s voices disappearing with it. Taekwoon asks, “What’d he say? Can we stay?”

Jaehwan shrugs. “He didn’t tell me.” 

Taekwoon groans before he can stop himself. He puts his face in his hands. 

Jaehwan tugs a hand away from Taekwoon’s face. “Hey.” Taekwoon does not look at the other boy, but he can hear the dip in his voice. “If– if you’re able to stay here, you should. Don’t worry about me––”

“Don’t be stupid.” Taekwoon knocks Jaehwan’s hand away, afraid that his tone might have given too much away. The thought of them separating––it makes Taekwoon feel like he is falling down a bottomless pit, trying to grab a lifeline that keeps slipping through his fingers. “We’re sticking together,” he affirms. These past two weeks he has tried to convince himself that everything will work out, but now a new thought has entered his head that makes his blood run cold.

What if Jaehwan _wants_ to leave him?

Jaehwan frowns, staring at Taekwoon’s expression. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like that?”

Taekwoon swallows. “You do want to stick together, right?”

“Yeah, of course. What are you talking about?” 

“Nothing.” He feels stupid for even asking, but Taekwoon has managed to grab onto the rope––no longer falling. He breathes out a sigh of relief. 

Jaehwan looks like he won’t let Taekwoon get away with his non-answer, but then the adults’ voices filter back into the kitchen. The back door bangs shut. 

“––didn’t have to snap at me.” 

“Well, then don’t say stupid shit. Boys, you hungry?” Yeonju appears in the kitchen doorway, and at the promise of a meal, Taekwoon and Jaehwan flock to the kitchen. 

At the stove, New Haven’s Wolf has his hands on the soup, a gray aura emanating from his hands. He stares at the contents of the pot. “Okay, you two tell anyone what you’re seeing right now, and we’re done. I don’t wanna be hired for anyone’s dinner party.” 

Yeonju takes out four bowls from a cabinet. “Ignore Chanwook; he likes to complain.” She brings the bowls to the stove and kisses the wizard’s cheek. 

Taekwoon averts his eyes to stare at the soup pot, cheeks feeling warm. 

Jaehwan’s the one to bring up the most pressing matter, however. “So are you gonna let us stay?” He stands at the Wolf’s other elbow, staring at the man. 

The Wolf grunts, moving his hands from the pot’s sides to the handles, steam now beginning to rise. “Haven’t decided. You two can stay the night on the couches, and I’ll decide tomorrow. It’s too late, and I’m too tired to think about this.” 

Jaehwan shoots a pleased look to Taekwoon. Better than nothing.

Yeonju pushes a hot bowl of soup into Taekwoon’s hands. Jaehwan slides past him to bring his to the table, and Taekwoon watches another silent look pass between Yeonju and the wizard. He twitches his shoulders which must mean something to Yeonju because she then raises her eyebrows at him. 

She turns her attention to Taekwoon. “Why don’t you sit down, honey? I’ll grab some blankets for you two.”

Despite knowing that they will be back to square one in the morning, Taekwoon finds himself stuck on the thought of Jaehwan leaving. He takes his spot beside Jaehwan at the table, and Jaehwan smiles at him and begins to prattle about the soup and how good it is, but Taekwoon’s lost––back in the pit. 

He eats the soup–– _which it is good_ ––and Yeonju brings down blankets, and he and Jaehwan settle on either couch, and the Wolf has already stalked up the stairs to bed, and Yeonju ruffles Jaehwan’s hair before turning out the light, climbing the stairs too, and Jaehwan whispers, “Goodnight,” to him, but Taekwoon is still thinking of the day when Jaehwan will want something else. 

And when that day comes––Taekwoon stares at the ceiling, the clock chiming two in the morning––he knows he will be completely and utterly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thanks for reading! hopefully the next part is up soon♡  
> \- title is taken from birdy's song "wings"


	2. Chapter 2

Lee Jaehwan’s voice croons into the microphone, rising and falling with the lilt of the song. He drags his hands up from his hips to his chest, emphasizing the sensualness of the song, and a few fervent patrons up front express just how much they appreciate it. Jaehwan sends a wink their way. 

The jazz band behind Jaehwan is just as into this song as he is. His voice and their music twine together all the way to the last verse, Jaehwan dragging out each of his notes as he pulls his hands up to his neck, resting them lightly on the back of his neck. He ends softly, his voice transforming from robust to something close to a sigh as he eyes a random audience member. He makes sure not to let his gaze waver.

Jaehwan finishes the note to the tune of the audience’s applause, a few guests even standing for him. His heart swells, basking in the love aimed his way.

Which makes it all the more sad when he steps down from the small stage to go back to serving tables. Jaehwan makes his way to the changing room to change his shirt from the sleek, collar-less one he sings in to the button-up that all male servers wear. He passes Heeyeon on his way out, and she sneaks a pinch on his cheek. “You were great.” 

Jaehwan smiles but his heart sinks at the thought of returning to the main floor. He hates waiting tables. He reminds himself, thought, that tonight’s shift will be short, and sure enough, by the time the hour is up, Seokjin has hustled in. “You owe me!” he shouts over his shoulder. Seokjin is protective of his days off, but Jaehwan managed to convince him after explaining it was an emergency.

Which it is.

Jaehwan punches out shortly after and leaves the lounge to trek over to the part of the city by the theatre. By quitting before his boss had the chance to fire him, Jaehwan could leave that job with his dignity intact. Well, as much as he could after being forced to witness his ex-boyfriend exchange saliva with the stage-hand. Now he works at the lounge, Red Room, which pays him better and offers him the chance to sing during some shifts. 

Heeyeon and Seokjin orchestrated Jaehwan’s job-change, lobbying one of the managers until he agreed to at least interview Jaehwan. The job is far from glamorous, mostly ass-kissing of people richer and prettier than he, but is that so different from anywhere else? At least the audience appreciates his singing, possibly the one skill Jaehwan is proud of. 

Another hour later and Jaehwan stands inside his ex-boyfriend’s apartment. 

“You’re an ass,” Jaehwan hisses. He balls his fists at his sides, ready to kick something, but he restrains himself because the assessment is more important than his anger. His ex-boyfriend stands on the other side of his bedroom, a finger pointed at Jaehwan and the other hand waving with a mind of its own. 

“Me? Who barged in here with an entourage?”

“I let you know they were coming. What, did you think the demon would put itself away?” 

His ex gestures wildly. The cramped bedroom puts them too close together, and Jaehwan predicted the argument, but he finds it better to argue in here than in front of the exorcist team. Even with the door closed, Jaehwan does not feel comfortable using anything but a whisper. The apartment has thin walls. 

His ex whisper-shouts, “The demon is your problem!” 

“I never said it wasn’t, but I need you to cooperate. You’re not exactly guilt-free.” Jaehwan folds his arms over his long coat. Before the other man can start fighting that statement, someone knocks on the bedroom door. 

Being the closer one, Jaehwan opens the door a crack to see Han Sanghyuk, member one of two of the exorcist team, standing there. “We, uh, found something if you’d like to see.” 

Jaehwan slips through the door and shuts it behind him. “Yes, I would. Sorry about that.” 

“Uh, no problem.” 

Sanghyuk leads Jaehwan to the small kitchen, the spot in question outlined with white tape. The other exorcist, Kim Wonsik, looks up from where he kneels. “There’s residual demonic energy here.” He points a gloved hand at the floor. “Enough to push your low-level demon into a possibly higher category.” He stares at Jaehwan, shuffling a hand through his silver hair. “Can you tell us what happened that night one more time?”

Sanghyuk has a notepad in hand. He has already taken Jaehwan’s statement once before. 

Jaehwan shifts on the spot. “You need it again?”

“We just need to be sure of the details,” Sanghyuk cuts in. 

The two exorcists stare at Jaehwan. Jaehwan’s ex still has not vacated the bedroom, so there is likely to be no support from that corner. He presses his lips together. “Well, like I said, it was done on a dare. I wanted to prove I could, but admittedly I was drunk, so rationality flew out the window.” 

Lie number one: Jaehwan had not been drunk. 

Sanghyuk continues the questioning. “So you set it all up? Is it possible you sabotaged the summoning yourself?”

“I mean––completely.” Jaehwan jerks a finger back to the bedroom and lowers his voice. “I’m convinced he broke the circle of salt.” 

Sanghyuk nods, re-checking his notes. He tells Wonsik, “That would explain it.” 

Both exorcists wear belts around their waits with attached pockets and small bags, and Wonsik reaches into the one by his hip to shake blue powder onto the floor. Wonsik studies the shape of the powder, although to Jaehwan it looks like nothing. 

“So,” Wonsik keeps his eyes trained on the floor, “you think your circle was broken on accident?” 

“When the demon began to materialize, he freaked out.” Jaehwan stares where Wonsik does, still seeing nothing. “He flailed around, and––I don’t know––I feel like he broke the line of salt.”

Wonsik pinches his fingers in the powder, watching it fall back to the floor as he rubs it between his fingers. “Well, it’s completely likely.” He stands. “Sanghyuk, write down that it’s possibly a Class D or E. It’s not in this area at the moment, however.” 

Jaehwan looks between the pair. “Wait are you…are you saying you’re _done_?” 

“Not done.” Wonsik picks up his brimmed hat from the counter and places it back on his head. “Why don’t we go outside and talk specifics?” 

While Sanghyuk and Wonsik clean up their things, Jaehwan lets his ex know that can come out. His ex refuses to leave the room, however, until the exorcists are gone, and to step on Jaehwan’s nerves one last time, he slams the bedroom door shut in Jaehwan’s face. 

With a huff, Jaehwan turns on his heel to leave. Tonight turned out to be as torturous as he thought. 

Jaehwan and the exorcists leave the apartment, and Wonsik only starts speaking again when they reach the building’s entrance. The yellow lamplight illuminates the small overhang, lengthening their shadows. The short sidewalk leads to the main road, but although the night is young, few people seem to be out. 

Wonsik and Sanghyuk, in their matching long tan coats, stand side-by-side across from Jaehwan. Wonsik speaks first. “Since you’re Hongbin’s friend, we’re technically giving you a break.” 

“I know and I appreciate that––”

“No, not just money-wise.” Wonsik shoves his hands in his pockets. He shifts awkwardly. “Demons Class D and up are meant to be handled by the authorities.”

Jaehwan crosses his arms over his chest, but the creeping winter chill sneaks through the front of his coat anyway. “Well, it’s not like I meant to summon a Class D––”

“––Potential Class D,” Sanghyuk chirps.

“Yeah, whatever.” Jaehwan hugs himself tighter. “So what are you guys saying?” 

“Given the circumstances, I think you’d get away with a slap on the wrist? I mean, you’ve told us everything, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jaehwan says too easily, too quick, but Wonsik fails to notice.

Lie number two: Jaehwan had not summoned the demon with Order magic, the approved form. No, he had used Chaos. Magic, no matter the type, is illegal for Jaehwan to perform as he does not have a license, but if they find out that he used Chaos magic for the summoning then the exorcists would have no choice but to report him. 

Wonsik shrugs, “Then, I mean, yeah. You’d be alright. But…I’m gonna hold off on saying anything yet.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re Hongbin’s friend, and he’s told me a lot about you.” At Jaehwan’s face, Wonsik quickly adds, “Good things, all good things. But I know what it means to have a run-in with the law, and if we can avoid it, I really don’t want to go that route.”

Sanghyuk nods in agreement.

“So you guys are covering me?”

“To an extent. If the demon turns out to be above a Class D, then we’ll be forced to contact the Bureau.” Wonsik grimaces. “I don’t want to do that, though.”

Jaehwan shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Thanks for letting me know.” Luck––pure luck––is the only reason the Bureau of Magical Affairs has not already been contacted. 

In an attempt to change the subject, Wonsik asks, “So are you still not planning on doing the sending yourself?” 

Jaehwan began shaking his head before Wonsik even finished. “I’ll give you blood, hair, or anything you might need to find the demon or send it, but I don’t think I’ll personally be able to do it.” 

Sanghyuk says, “I’m sure we can do it, but it’s more––”

“Powerful if I take part, I know.” Jaehwan looks between the two of them. “Listen, I’m not good at magic. I’m kind of terrible. Even if I tried to do the sending, I just don’t think it’d be more powerful than what you two could do.” For effect, Jaehwan rubs his chin. “Unless Hongbin’s just really confident in you guys.”

Sanghyuk actually laughs. “Okay, we get it.” 

Jaehwan continues, “But seriously. I don’t think I’d be very much help.” The words echo in his chest, rubbing against the sore parts of him. _You’re lying_ , one part of him says, but then the other part of him agrees with what he said. Jaehwan is just not helpful when it comes to magic. 

That person would be Taekwoon.

Almost three weeks have passed since he sat on the kitchen counter and told Taekwoon he wanted to come back. All of his things are back in his room. He sleeps in his own bed. Jaehwan, however, still feels off in the house. Like something is still missing. Like something has not completely been repaired. 

He and Taekwoon talk, but sometimes things run awkward, almost like they both have never held a conversation before. Jaehwan will say something, and he can see the wheels turning in Taekwoon’s mind as he tries to figure out if Jaehwan is joking or not, and sometimes Taekwoon just _stares_ at him, making him feel like he has said something wrong, and––

Jaehwan, however, cannot pretend it has all been bad. Being home and at least being with Taekwoon has helped heal the part of him that always regretted moving out. They will figure it out. They will fall back into step soon enough. And, until then, Jaehwan will take care of the demon business, and maybe things will just be normal. 

A punch slams Jaehwan in the chest, and he crumples to the concrete sidewalk as all the air leaves his lungs. He sees stars in his eyes. Erratic hissing enters his ears, shortly followed by yelling. Something heavy slides onto his chest. It takes him a moment to recognize that something sits on his chest, the stars still popping in his eyes, and before he can make noise, his mouth is forced open and something shoots down his throat.

Jaehwan screams in pain and fear, but the horror worsens as his throat constricts, tightening around the _thing_ in his throat. Tears spring to Jaehwan’s eyes. He blinks them open, but all he sees is darkness. 

_You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough._

A blinding flash of light forces Jaehwan to shut his eyes, and when he does, whatever attacked him disappears. In an instant. The substance in his throat dissolves and the weight lifts away. 

It all happened in less than thirty seconds.

Jaehwan rolls to his side, off the sidewalk, and into the grass to dry heave, but nothing comes up. Saliva dribbles from his mouth. 

“Are you okay?” Sanghyuk lays a hand on his shoulder, to gently turn Jaehwan onto his back again. “Wonsik, do the––”

“Already doing it.”

The burn in Jaehwan’s throat grows worse, moving to his middle. “Water,” he pants. Everything aches. His chest feels as if it has been broken in half, split open for Sanghyuk to peer inside. His fingers grasp at clumps of grass.

Sanghyuk busies himself at Jaehwan’s side, moving his hands in his lap with a focus Jaehwan never expected from him. “Hold on just a second; it’s coming.” From his belt, he takes a vial, and mixes whatever concoction he prepared into it. He puts a thumb over the mouth, shakes it, then places a hand under Jaehwan’s head and lifts him forward so he can drink. 

It tastes like sulfur. 

Jaehwan turns over once more, but this time expels the contents of his stomach. He thought he had nothing to vomit, but he is proven wrong as a stream of black sludge hits the grass. 

Jaehwan wipes his mouth with his hand. The night air chills his clammy skin, and he still hurts, but not nearly as bad. He glares at Sanghyuk, still shaking. “The hell was that?”

“The expellant or your demon?”

“Both?”

Wonsik returns to Sanghyuk’s side. “I cast protection around us. We should be alright for now, but I wouldn’t recommend staying.” 

Jaehwan spits into the grass, trying to get rid of the lingering “expellant.” He looks again at the black, murky liquid that came up with his vomit and asks, “What’d it do to me?”

“Probably tried to form an anchor,” Wonsik explains. He scans the street, but there is no sign of anyone, living or otherwise. No spectators. “Demons, once out of the Chaos Realm, don’t want to go back.” 

It takes Jaehwan a moment to fully understand what Wonsik implied. “It’s latched onto me now?” 

“Most likely.” 

“I don’t understand,” Sanghyuk says. His eyes are fixed on his partner. “You tried tracking it in the apartment, and there wasn’t even a read for it. If it was this close by, then you should’ve seen _something_.” 

“I know, and that’s what I don’t like.” 

Jaehwan looks between both exorcists. “What do you mean?” 

Wonsik reaches into one of his many pockets to pull out a necklace. He hands it to Jaehwan. “It means the sooner we send it back, the better.” Jaehwan studies the necklace––just a leather cord with a hand-carved wooden symbol looped onto it. “This’ll help ward against more attacks.” 

“ _Help_?”

Sanghyuk lays a hand on Jaehwan’s shoulder. His eyes are devoid of their cheery demeanor now that Jaehwan has been over-turned and sucker-punched by a demon. He implores, “You sure you don’t want to do the sending?”

Jaehwan looks back at the black sludge that came from his stomach, from the demon that he summoned. Stomach queasy and head foggy, Jaehwan slurs out, “I wanna go home.” 

 

Wonsik and Sanghyuk accompany Jaehwan back to the south side of New Haven, where the dilapidated house with the red shutters sits. The whole way Wonsik pestered him about blessing the house and taking baths with springlock bark and sage, and Jaehwan never said no, just “not tonight.” The exorcist let up after that, but Jaehwan could tell that he disapproved of Jaehwan’s lack of urgency. 

Which…is not quite the reason why tonight is not the night. 

Jaehwan leaves the exorcists at the corner of his street, refuting their multiple offers to walk him all the way to his house, and Jaehwan turns his key in the lock, feeling it give way, then pushes on the door, lifting it up on its hinges and ramming his shoulder into it. 

The door hits something solid, and Jaehwan’s stomach does a flip at the violent stop-and-start.

From out of the darkness, Taekwoon’s face peers around the door. “Ow,” he whines. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Jaehwan straightens up as Taekwoon backs away and makes it inside the house. He shuts the door behind him. Flicks the lights on. 

Light shines on Taekwoon, standing much too close to the door, wearing an old shirt and flannel pants –– not his work clothes. Taekwoon mumbles something, eyes averted. 

“What?”

“I was trying to go outside.” 

Jaehwan makes a face. He looks down to Taekwoon’s bare feet. “This late? What do you have to do out there?” 

Taekwoon sighs, eyes to the ceiling. “I thought I heard a noise. Or something.” 

Was he trying to scare him? Jaehwan almost laughs but manages to turn it into a cough. He lets Taekwoon think he has gotten away with his failure in secret. 

The younger moves past Taekwoon, shucking off his coat and laying it over the nearest chair. His shirt still clings to him from the half-dried sweat, and all his muscles ache terribly. The cuff of his sleeve covers the talisman Wonsik gave him, looped thrice around his small wrist. _Ugh_ ––Jaehwan brings his wrist to his nose–– _it smells like something rotting_. The sickly sweet smell had not been apparent outside when Wonsik first handed it over, but now indoors and out of his coat, it reeks.

“What happened to your pants?”

Jaehwan fiddles with his cuff, as if tightening it would make the smell stop. “Huh? Oh, nothing.” 

Jaehwan hears Taekwoon’s feet pad across the floor, getting closer. “Are those…grass stains? They’re all over your pants.” 

Jaehwan, his opposite hand clamped over his wrist, also begins moving away toward the stairs. Over his shoulder he says, “Oh, yeah. It was slippery outside of the theatre. I cut through the grass around back––you know the empty lot––and I don’t know who did it, but there was water everywhere, and naturally––unfortunately––I took a slip.” Jaehwan starts climbing the stairs. He hears Taekwoon two steps behind him. 

“Why’d you go back there?”

Jaehwan laughs to cover up his exasperation; Taekwoon, obviously, is not going to be as polite as he was, ferreting out Jaehwan’s lie. “Well, you know how it is. You get bored walking the same way every day, and I thought a good rousing walk would do me some good.”

Jaehwan turns right at the top of the stairs to go into his room. He can hear Taekwoon follow. Jaehwan stops at his door, not going through, and Taekwoon has to stop short in order to not run into him. Jaehwan turns to face Taekwoon, folds his arms, and tucks the offending wrist under his arm pit. 

Taekwoon wears a vague expression, carefully blank, but Jaehwan knows his mind is doing somersaults to figure out how Jaehwan slipped in damp grass but is not, well, damp. Jaehwan curses himself. He should have thought of something better.

Jaehwan looks into Taekwoon’s eyes; Jaehwan never was able to catch up to Taekwoon’s height, although Taekwoon’s habitual slouching does make that fact somewhat forgettable. But right now, in such close quarters, Jaehwan is forced to remember just how many centimeters separate them in height––but also the space between them. Jaehwan recalls their moment in the kitchen two weeks ago, how Taekwoon had been nestled between his legs, and they breathed each other’s air, and Jaehwan’s heart beat hard in his chest––a violent and fast-paced song that should have given him away to Taekwoon––and _that_ should have killed any distance that remained between them. 

But instead they danced in circles, clumsy-footed––reaching out but never quite grabbing hold of each other. 

Jaehwan lets out a breath, staring into Taekwoon’s eyes but wanting to stare at his neck, at the spot where Jaehwan can smell his cologne. 

The skin around Taekwoon’s eyes tightens––then relaxes. A small smile curls his mouth. “You’re so clumsy. You okay?”

“Yeah.” Jaehwan only manages to breath out the word. He sounds silly. He licks his lips and clears his throat. “A little sore after falling on my ass, but the doctors all say I should make a full recovery. A miracle.”

Taekwoon finally–– _finally_ ––takes a step back. And another. “Well, I should hope so.” He drifts away, walking to his own room, and slips inside. 

Jaehwan deflates against the door. 

After breathing a sigh, Jaehwan shuts himself inside his own bedroom. When he moved back in, he was surprised to find that his room had remained untouched, that everything had remained just as he left it. Not that he expected anything different––or maybe he had. He was only partially joking about Taekwoon turning his room into a library. 

He moves to his dresser to stand in front of the wide mirror. He unbuttons his shirt, pulling the hem out of his pants, then throws it to the floor. He leans in, both hands flat on the dresser’s surface. 

Nothing.

His skin still prickles from the attack, and the stupid expellant did make him feel better, but…. He cannot put his finger on it, but something still is wrong. Like something heavy resides underneath his skin. Jaehwan places a hand over his sternum, feeling down his chest and then resting over his stomach. 

Nothing.

But the feeling remains. 

Jaehwan thinks of him lying on his back, the awful thoughts in his head. _“You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough.”_ Why had that been his own knee-jerk response? He shakes his head.

The young man places his hands over his ears and rubs circles into the sides of his head. Whatever thoughts those were, he cannot trust them. His self-esteem is such a fragile thing, and Jaehwan has done well to build it up all on his own, but even the tiniest of things can set him back. It turns out that words have a propensity to do the most harm. 

With a steadying breath, Jaehwan looks himself full on in the mirror’s reflection. He pushes his hair back, fingers combing through the dried gel and spray, making some parts stick up in different directions. He scrunches his nose and puffs his cheeks. He then tries for a different expression, something truly ugly: his eyes rolled back in his head, eyebrows sky-high, fingers hooking into his cheeks to reveal his teeth. Jaehwan catches his expression and manages to laugh. He practices all his angles, so he will be comfortable with them all. 

When his laughter subsides, Jaehwan is left staring at his normal expression, but he is not really looking at himself. Taekwoon occupies his mind. Jaehwan, as a folly on his part, has not yet told Taekwoon about his job at Red Room. He has a feeling he knows how the other may react, but Jaehwan has foolishly procrastinated in telling him. The job interview took place just before he made up with Taekwoon, and Jaehwan had not wanted to ruin anything by bringing it up just after getting back on good terms with the other. So now––he sighs to himself––he is stuck. 

Jaehwan lifts the wrist that still wears Wonsik’s talisman. 

He has not told Taekwoon about the exorcists either. While he needs to share his job at some time (in the near future–– _really_ near), the demon will forever be his own private business. Despite Taekwoon wanting to help Jaehwan with the demon, Jaehwan has barred him from the process. Jaehwan sees the problem as his own to deal with and has not shared any details with the older. If Taekwoon asks, Jaehwan usually gives a vague reply, enough to satisfy but not enough to draw Taekwoon’s interest. 

Nothing significant happened until tonight anyway. 

If Taekwoon knew the demon attacked Jaehwan or even if he understood the full scope of sending the demon back, then Taekwoon would want to take part even though he hates anything related to Chaos magic. Taekwoon, like the rest of the world, was taught to spurn Chaos magic because of its impure, dangerous form. 

Jaehwan was taught the same, but his brief time dabbling with the magic made him suspect that Chaos is not so different from Order itself, but explaining that to Taekwoon brought on arguments. The difference of opinion and the fact that Chaos magic is an illegal practice made Jaehwan drop his efforts to convince Taekwoon otherwise, no longer performing it either. 

Until Jaehwan summoned the demon.

Jaehwan firms his jaw. If he takes part in the sending, he will have to use Order magic. Easier said than done. For whatever reason, Order magic has never agreed with him––never. Unexplainably, Jaehwan at least can produce _something_ with Chaos magic, but with Order just an inkling of magic manifests from his hands. 

Jaehwan gnaws on his lower lip, pacing the length of his room. If his participation will truly make the sending faster, increasing the chance of success, then…maybe he should do it. The thought of being responsible for such a duty terrifies him, especially being as terrible as he is with magic in general, but Wonsik and Sanghyuk seemed confident in him. 

Jaehwan stops in front of his mirror and heaves another sigh, dragging a hand down the side of his face. He will have to help with the sending. If he wants to put his mistake behind him, then taking an active role in the process may be the smartest decision. In the morning, he will walk to the nearest phone booth and call the exorcists’ shop to let them know…and to also schedule a time so they can bless the house when Taekwoon is not around.

Jaehwan tries for a smile in the mirror. He holds it for a count of five seconds, and okay with what his reflection shows him, he moves away, finally ready for bed. 

 

//

 

Taekwoon leans over the cauldron, taking a deep whiff of his mixture. The potion still does not smell quite right, and he drops another handful of herbs into the green liquid before stirring counter-clockwise. 

“How’s it coming?”

Taekwoon glances to the corner where Hongbin sits. He shrugs. “Could be better.” Taekwoon leans down to inspect his fire. Is it not burning hot enough? He closes his eyes and touches one of the burning logs, his blue magic protecting his hand while also making the fire burn hotter. It is tricky to keep the two intents separate––not burning himself while also stimulating the fire––but many lessons have taught Taekwoon to be careful. 

Hongbin coughs. “Why’d your master think it was a good idea to brew potions in a basement?” He waves a hand in front of his face, fanning the smoke away from his face. 

Taekwoon wafts the fumes toward the small rectangular window at the top of south-facing wall. Taekwoon has often wondered the same. During the summer, the heat of the fire counter-balances the cold basement, but it becomes very uncomfortable during the winter. 

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon muses aloud. “Everything about him’s difficult.” 

Hongbin laughs. He puts down the book in his hands and asks, “By the way, have you heard from him?” He then snickers, knowing the full story of Taekwoon and his master, the Wolf of New Haven. 

After letting Jaehwan and Taekwoon stay that first night, Heo had them clean up the front lawn for the day, and when night came again, he announced that he was still thinking about his decision. He thought about it for a full week, repeating the same cycle every day, before he forgot that he was still “thinking” about it and brought Taekwoon to the basement to begin his lessons.

Taekwoon scowls. “Barely.” Every few weeks, since he left two years ago, Heo sends Taekwoon a letter from different cities in different countries. Always writing one sentence summarizing his time in whichever place he has traveled, and another–– _“Don’t blow up my house.”_

Taekwoon never bothers sending replies. The only time he sent Heo a letter was when Jaehwan first left, asking when Heo thought he would be back. Perhaps it was Taekwoon’s own loneliness to blame, but Heo never answered anyway. He just kept sending his stupid postcards. 

“He took that lady with him, right?” 

“Yeonju?” Taekwoon adds more herbs to his potion, thinking of the little doodles she scribbled on the edges of the letters. “Yeah, she went with him.”

“They’re quite the pair.”

Taekwoon shrugs again. “I still don’t understand how they’re together.” Shortly after being accepted into Heo’s house, Taekwoon ventured a question about Yeonju. After the first night, he noticed that Yeonju would leave during the day and only come return on certain nights, and Taekwoon wondered what job she had that kept her away for so long. Carefully, Taekwoon asked Heo why he never mentioned that he had a wife in any of his interviews with the press, and Heo looked him in the eyes, held his gaze, and told Taekwoon that he did not. 

It turned out that Yeonju did not live there at all.

Taekwoon only had rudimentary knowledge of sex thanks to catching bits and pieces of what his old classmates said, but he knew enough that he did not want to know more. From then on, however, Taekwoon started tracking Yeonju’s visits. But all hopes that the two adults were just friends were further and further disproven by the two’s more-than-friendly touches and then finally when Taekwoon walked into the hallway late one night and heard noises that put the final nail in the coffin. 

Needless to say, Taekwoon never asked Heo about his relationship again. 

Taekwoon never found the urge to joke with Jaehwan about sex, the way some of the boys at school needed to bring it up around each other. When Heo gave him the official run-down (effectively disproving some of what he thought he knew), it did make him understand the _why_ and the _how_ , but Taekwoon could not fathom the idea of _being_ with another person.

Hongbin interrupts his reverie with, “So where’s Jaehwan?”

“At the theatre.” Taekwoon steps away from his cauldron to grab another fistful of herbs, watching the potion closely as he stirs them in. 

Hongbin brushes his pink hair away from his face. The color is almost blond now, fading fast, but if Taekwoon pointed it out, Hongbin would argue and fight him that it could still be considered pink. “How are things going?” he asks. “Jaehwan’s all settled back in?” 

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“You guys are okay again?”

“Yeah…I suppose.”

Hongbin quirks a brow. 

Taekwoon gives his potion a vigorous stir as it hisses at him, left too long untouched. “It’s just…. It’s not the same as it was.” 

“How so?”

Nothing truly feels wrong. Last night was odd, how Jaehwan came home very obviously refraining from telling Taekwoon something, but what kind of friend cannot respect the other’s privacy? Jaehwan said that he left last time because of his own problems, but Taekwoon has taken a magnifying glass to his own life. He partially blames his own tendency to be overbearing for the rift between them, so he dropped the subject last night. If Jaehwan wanted to tell him, then he would have.

Right?

“I feel like….” Taekwoon frowns. “I feel like we’re speaking two different languages.”

“Explain.”

“We talk to each other, but there’s a disconnect.” Taekwoon makes sure to keep stirring his potion as he looks up to meet Hongbin’s eyes. “Before, I didn’t have a problem talking to him. Now it’s– it’s weird.”

Hongbin snickers. “Are you sure you don’t feel some sort of––” he flutters his eyelids, hand over his heart, “––something for him?” 

While Taekwoon may have spilled his feelings to Hakyeon, Taekwoon has made sure to never share them with Hongbin. “No,” he answers, making sure to keep his expression blank. 

“Really?” Hongbin raises his eyebrows. He looks skeptical, drilling his fingers into his book. He sits in the chair, like a seasoned judge presiding over a difficult case. 

“I just care. A lot.” To rehash Hongbin’s own words, Taekwoon says, “We’re friends.”

Hongbin waves a hand as if Taekwoon’s words are like an annoying fly. “You know you can be friends and be––” he feigns a gasp, “––in love, right?” 

“We’re _friends_.”

Hongbin holds up both hands in a calming gesture. “I find it hard to believe you, but I believe you, okay?” He pauses. “I’m just letting you know that if you ever decided to confide in me your heart’s secrets, I would fully support you.” 

The cauldron starts hissing again, begging Taekwoon’s attention. He gives it a few stirs before he says into the following silence, “Thanks for the support, but I’m telling the truth.” He shoots another look to Hongbin. “And don’t tell Jaehwan about this.” 

“About what?”

“About––” Taekwoon sighs through his teeth. “About what I just said.”

“All you’ve told me is that you care for him a lot. What’s to tell?” Hongbin smiles, but it is too smug for Taekwoon’s taste. “But, in all seriousness, I will not breathe of this to a soul.” At Taekwoon’s still blank expression, Hongbin adds, “I’m sure you and Jaehwan will be fine. It was an awkward year––for everyone. It’ll take some time for you two to get over that.”

Hongbin leaves so Taekwoon can bottle his potion in peace, but Taekwoon finds that Hongbin’s teasing keeps nagging at him. 

He is in love with Jaehwan, but that is neither here nor there. 

A few months after beginning his training with Heo, Taekwoon approached the wizard. “I want Jaehwan to go to school.”

Heo stood over his cauldron, brewing a pain-relieving potion for the elderly customers on their street. He did not even look up. “He’s not cut out for magic. You know that.” 

“Not for magic.” Taekwoon wrung his fists together, hovering at the wizard’s elbow. “For…other stuff. Like regular school.”

Heo stared at Taekwoon from the corner of his eye. “School isn’t free. How’s he getting there?”

“I’ll take on extra work. I’ll help you bottle potions or– or something. Whatever you need.”

Heo went back to his potion. “What’s wrong with him finding simple work?”

Taekwoon bit the inside of his cheek.

“Huh? What’s wrong with that?”

“I just….”

“Yes?”

“I want him to have a chance to live well.” There he said it. Taekwoon glared at Heo as if daring him to laugh. “Is that a problem?”

Heo’s face cracked with a smile. “I’ll think on it. School’s a hefty fee.”

But Taekwoon did not back down. “I know.”

A few weeks later, Heo slapped an advertisement down on kitchen table. “I know a guy who works there. He said he could swing something a little cheaper than tuition price.” He scoffed. “They’d enroll him as a student with ‘charitable needs.’”

Taekwoon looked over the advertisement. He did not care how they enrolled Jaehwan so long as he was enrolled. The school was in Old Haven a little over an hour away. It was a boarding school. 

Taekwoon looked up at Heo, but Heo was already staring at him, already knowing what he would ask. He said, “It’s the only one you’re gonna find at that price.” He shrugged. “Unless you want him going down to New Haven’s Angel’s, but that place is a joke. I wouldn’t let any kid go within a mile of the place.”

Taekwoon reread the advertisement. And read it again. He licked his lips. “Okay.”

Jaehwan was enrolled at Old Haven’s School for Blessed Boys before the day was out. 

“I don’t want to go.” Jaehwan stared at Taekwoon, his eyes wide. “Why’s he making me go?”

Taekwoon stood just inside Jaehwan’s bedroom door, watching Jaehwan from where the younger sat on his bed, angry at the news. He stormed up to his room after Heo announced, without warning, that Jaehwan would be going to school in the spring. 

Taekwoon followed.

Taekwoon, truthfully, did not want Jaehwan to go either, but it would be for his own good. Taekwoon licked his lips. “Because you need to go to school.” He took a breath. “Because I asked him.” Behind his back, Taekwoon balled his hands together, gripping them so hard that they hurt. “I thought it’d help.” 

“Help what?” The last word wavered, and Jaehwan clamped his mouth shut. 

“Jaehwan, you don’t know how to _read_.”

“I’ve been trying––”

“You can do a little magic, but–– Later, when we get real jobs, you need to have something.” When Jaehwan did not fire back at him, Taekwoon went on. “If you take the train, you can come home on weekends. And there’s breaks, too.”

A long silence created a void between both boys. Taekwoon stood by the door, running over all his thoughts, wondering if this was really the right choice, and then in a small voice, Jaehwan asked, “You’re paying for it?”

“Technically Heo is, but in exchange for me delivering his products and some other side stuff. He was already thinking of hiring someone, so if he uses me….”

Jaehwan stared a long time at Taekwoon. Fists gripping his bed sheets, he lowered his head, so Taekwoon was unable to see his face. "Okay," he said to his knees. "I'll do it." 

And it was as Taekwoon said. Jaehwan came home on weekends, breaks too, but during the weekdays, it was just Taekwoon, waiting for the weekends. For when Jaehwan would come back. 

Taekwoon frowns at his row of vials. It is not like they have never been apart, always finding some way to fall back into step with each other. So why is it so hard now? 

Taekwoon thinks of Jaehwan––a whirlwind, a spring shower––and then he thinks of himself. A shut-in. Maybe…maybe they are too different. Maybe proximity brought them together, but their schism just brought out the truth. Jaehwan’s last departure was not due to school but because he was upset, and in Taekwoon’s mind, that makes all the difference. 

Taekwoon slowly folds himself over, resting his cheek on the cold, wooden surface of the worktable. His vials glitter green in the fluorescent lighting. He breathes out a shaky breath. The lesson he learned from Jaehwan being away is that he _needs_ Jaehwan. Whatever the reason for Jaehwan's departure, he does not want for it to happen again. Not in that way.

He turns his head so his forehead rests on the table. He stares into the surface, patterns dancing before his eyes, as he thinks about Jaehwan's demon. Jaehwan has not spoken of it recently, but the last time he mentioned that things were going well. Taekwoon assumed this meant Jaehwan contacted Hongbin's exorcist friends, and they were handling it. 

In any case, Taekwoon knew exorcists came with a pretty price tag. 

Taekwoon is not sure how much Jaehwan receives as an actor for New Haven's theatre, but he is positive that Jaehwan cannot afford the exorcist team and the bills…. Heo legally owns the house, but they pay for other bills and living expenses, and Taekwoon just scraped by after Jaehwan left. The potion-making business is not very lucrative. 

Then an idea strikes. 

Taekwoon rises from his bench and goes upstairs to swipe a letter from the kitchen table. Taekwoon unfolds the letter––already open from reading it earlier––and Taekwoon rereads the contents. 

The person wants Heo's help, willing to pay a generous fee in exchange. Heo always turned down these sorts of requests, but what if Taekwoon sends himself instead? 

Heo acknowledges Taekwoon’s skill––high praise coming from the brusque Wolf of New Haven––and allowed Taekwoon to take on a portion of his clients once he left. All of Heo’s clients require potions, which are about the only thing an unlicensed magic-user like himself can receive compensation for. 

However, Taekwoon can perform other tasks with written permission from a wizard, acting as a temporary license. 

Taekwoon imagines Heo's reaction if he knew what he was about to do and quickly shuts him out. Heo never did say when he would be back, but he is not around now. A single apprentice operating with his master's (falsified) permission should be just enough to give Jaehwan the extra money he needs. 

Taekwoon smiles to himself and tucks the letter inside his work robes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i just want to say ravi wore a jacket once that said "ghosts, get fucked"  
> \- exorcist team hyukvi is OBVIOUSLY the next subunit am i right


	3. Chapter 3

Jaehwan readjusts the talisman, hissing as the cord rubs the skin of his wrist. He curses the pair of exorcists for the millionth time wondering what the talisman was coated in to make his skin react this way. He lifts the edge of his sleeve to see the pink rash and then jerks his wrist away. The stench has only intensified. Before leaving for work, Jaehwan made sure to douse himself in perfume, but it just masks the smell instead of killing it. 

A body presses close to Jaehwan, and he tenses until he hears the familiar giggle in his ear. “So how goes it?” Heeyeon says the words in Jaehwan’s ear, so close that he thinks some of her lipstick transferred. 

He turns to look at her. Both Jaehwan and Heeyeon wear Red Room’s colors––black and red––but Heeyeon dresses in a black dress that ghosts over the lines of her body, a dangerous slit creeping up toward her hip. Jaehwan, once again, is thankful for his modest uniform.

Jaehwan readjusts his tray so he can swipe at his ear, hand coming away with smudges of her red lipstick. He snorts and leans in to answer, “Terrible. Table ten has an attitude problem.” Unlike her, he takes care to not put his lipgloss on her ear.

Heeyeon glances over his shoulder at the table of gilded wizards. “Hmm. I’ll watch out for that.” She pulls her head back slightly and sniffs his shirt. She looks him in the eye. “Is that…you?”

Jaehwan turns red. “I––”

“What’d you do? Bathe in perfume?” Heeyeon snickers as she sniffs him again. “Doesn’t smell terrible…just very _strong_.” 

Jaehwan quickly back-peddles, saying, “Alright, nice talking to you.” Her snicker follows him as he walks back toward his table until it is swallowed by the loud music. Jaehwan winds through the labyrinth of tables to make it back to the wizards.

The wizards dressed in varying amounts of red and black to honor Red Room’s custom, but each one has their insignia somewhere emblazoned on their person. Usually wizards like to be recognized in these places––unlike politicians. 

The wizards pay Jaehwan little attention as he distributes the glasses of alcohol. He watches that his sleeves keep out of the way as he dips in-between seats and leans over their shoulders, but the men are too deep in their discussion of wizard politics to notice. 

Jaehwan sets a glass before a man with the longest sleeves Jaehwan has ever seen. The shape of a boar is embroidered into the lapels of his robe, unfamiliar to Jaehwan, but as the man twirls the thick rings on his fingers, he asks, “When is the Wolf coming back?”

Jaehwan flinches, staring at the side of the wizard’s head, and opens his mouth––

“No one knows,” another wizard across the table says. This was the one who tried to vie for a free sampling of different flavored drinks and had berated Jaehwan for not complying. He drills his fingers into the white tablecloth, agitation evident. 

Someone else chimes in: “Still on his extended trip?” The table then chuckles; obviously, this subject has been discussed many times before.

The blood rushes to Jaehwan’s cheeks again. Of course they were not talking to him. Of course these people have no idea that he knows Heo. Jaehwan tucks the serving tray under his arm, glad that the dim lighting hides the color in his cheeks. 

He begins to move away when the wizard with the boar lapels grabs onto his wrist. “We’ll be needing another round of, oh, whatever those things are.” He gestures to the empty plate of cakes, but Jaehwan’s eyes are on the fingers clamped over his wrist, pushing the covered talisman into his skin. 

“Certainly,” Jaehwan mutters, but the fingers still grip him––tightly. He looks into the wizard’s face to see a blend of curiosity and amusement appraising him. He wears an amulet around his neck, an obnoxiously large orb resting atop his robs and on display for all to see, and Jaehwan has to resist staring at the gaudy thing. But then, a shiver of power leaks through the wizard’s hand and into Jaehwan’s skin. 

Jaehwan jerks his hand away to the sound of the wizard’s laugh. Two other wizards join in, but the rest of the group fails to notice or does not care; they have devolved into their own conversations again. Jaehwan turns on his heel and storms toward the kitchen, keeping his wrist stuck to his side. 

Jaehwan knows the ways in which wizards flex their power, but he will never be used to someone else’s magic seeping under his skin. Like a spider’s thread, sticking to body, trapping him. 

He returns with the cakes but makes sure to leave quickly in case another wizard wants a go. Heo used to tell him that most wizards are infatuated with their own ability. Heo would put his hand on top of Jaehwan’s head, as if he could imbue the sentiment through contact, and make Jaehwan promise to never get involved in a wizard’s business. Jaehwan, of course, would dutifully promise. 

Jaehwan glances out over the tables in the lounge, all filled with wizards, businessmen, politicians––those with disposable money. In his head, he debates what level of involvement Heo meant. 

“Table three’s a dream.”

Jaehwan looks up to see Seokjin sidling next to him. “Yeah?”  
“Yeah, they kept asking me where we get our water from and lost their minds when they found out it was not from a ‘closed container.’” Seokjin huffs, a harsh sigh passing through his teeth. “Do you think they would notice if I spit in their food?” 

Jaehwan smiles at his friend. “Probably not, but I think the kitchen would, though.” Both servers lean against the back wall, the floor manager nowhere in sight. “If management heard about it, it’d be over for you.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. He looks back out over the room––over the tables of important people, the live band on stage. He grumbles, “Oh, what do they want now?” The guests at table three have begun to twist in their seats as if looking for Seokjin. The server heaves himself off the wall, taking every ounce of his willpower to do so, and stalks back in their direction. 

Jaehwan’s smile slips lower the longer he stands alone. He thinks on Heo’s words about wizards; he thinks of Taekwoon’s former admiration now turned to distaste. Wizards are not the same as those who can simply wield magic. Wizards are a subset of that group––those who managed to pass the Test of Triumph, the test offered to all who attended a formal magic school. The test legally certifies an individual to wield the full strength of their magic at the price of using it for the good of the state. 

Heo called it the bullshit test.

Either way, Taekwoon cannot be considered a wizard––can never be considered one despite his proficiency. The most he can do is operate as an “apprentice” under the supervision of Heo, but at all times he must carry proper registration, saying he is under Heo’s guidance, and his license, which certifies that a magic-user can perform magic in public. If an official asks to see either and Taekwoon does not have them, he could be in trouble. 

Jaehwan never saw the point in getting his license. He can barely perform magic, and the long process did not seem worth it. That logic worked until he decided to summon the demon and now, even if they manage to send it, Jaehwan will no doubt face a fine of some sort. 

He rubs at his wrist, still bothered by the ghost of that wizard’s magic in his bones. The talisman aggravates the skin, possibly making Jaehwan over-sensitive to the magic, and Jaehwan thinks he smells the _horrible_ stench again––

But wait. 

Jaehwan pauses, his loose thoughts reordering themselves so the important thing– the important thing that he just thought of…. He smacks his open palm with his fist. The wizard wore an amulet around his neck. An amulet! Jaehwan could use one for the sending. 

An amulet may actually work. 

Taekwoon tried to explain the importance of amulets to Jaehwan, once back at the magic school on Lovely Street, and then again after they were living at Heo’s. The first explanation did not stick with Jaehwan; he had already accepted that magic was not his strong suit and believed not even a functioning amulet would help him. 

The second time Taekwoon told him––well, Jaehwan still was not paying attention. 

Taekwoon had come into Jaehwan’s room, a book tucked under his arm, leaning on the edge of Jaehwan’s bed. Jaehwan was home for the weekend from the boarding school, and he was digging in his suitcase as Taekwoon prattled about amulet facts. Jaehwan had no interest, but he did not dare tell Taekwoon because the older boy was standing in Jaehwan’s room, so _enamored_ with the subject. 

“Amulets give a boost to the wearer’s magic,” Taekwoon described, “but no one can make a properly functioning one anymore, which is too bad.” 

Jaehwan barely heard him. Taekwoon, nearly sixteen at the time, had grown even taller, and Jaehwan was more intent to figure out when and how that happened. 

“Way back,” Taekwoon continued, “they used to make amulets specific to a wizard.”

Jaehwan snapped out of his wondering long enough to ask, “Does Heo have one?”

“He used to, but it’s not a good one.” 

Earlier that day, Heo had met Jaehwan at the train station, and as a hello, he had pulled a bag of sweets out of his coat pocket and shoved them at him. When they had gotten home, Heo pulled a thick book from inside his coat and magicked it to fly across the room. Taekwoon, who had been descending the stairs, managed to catch it by the edges of his fingers. Heo then grunted something about needing to practice and disappeared in the basement.

Yeonju caught the tale end of the exchange as she walked from the kitchen and rolled her eyes. “Is it that hard to hand someone something? Like a normal person?” She said it loud enough for the wizard to hear. 

Jaehwan glimpsed the front cover of Taekwoon’s book; it was the same one from earlier. 

“Can you imagine?” Taekwoon’s voice shadowed wonder and his own imaginings. “They talk about these things like they’re a friend. That’s how close you get to it.”

Jaehwan could not imagine feeling so attached to a piece of rock around his neck. _A friend._ He caught the glint of the old, dead amulet hanging from his dresser drawer’s knob, the one Taekwoon had found for him so long ago. Jaehwan tried to picture it thrumming with life, warm on his chest, collecting his magic, near and dear to him. He tried to partner the feelings he associated with Taekwoon to it, and that made it all the more laughable. 

He did not dare laugh.

Taekwoon then went on to talk about the level of craftsmanship that went into amulets, detailing their history, but Jaehwan was busy watching the way Taekwoon’s eyes darted across the book’s pages before meeting Jaehwan’s, alight with a fervor to learn. He was busy starting at Taekwoon’s eyelashes, on the spread of Taekwoon’s hands on the book, on the lilt in his voice when he read off something he found fascinating. 

Despite Taekwoon’s explanations, Jaehwan came away knowing as much about amulets as he did before––which was not much. 

After his shift ends, Jaehwan hurries home. He runs over questions in his mind––how he can phrase his curiosity without alerting Taekwoon to his plans. A voice in Jaehwan’s head, that sounds very much like Hongbin, prods him to alert Taekwoon, to go ahead and tell him everything. 

Jaehwan shakes away the feeling. He will tell Taekwoon everything once the demon is gone. Once the demon has been sent, Jaehwan will finally–– _finally_ let himself relax. Once the demon is gone, once this last barrier has been torn away, will Jaehwan tell Taekwoon the truth. 

After all, Taekwoon also deserves peace of mind. 

Jaehwan bursts into the house––as much as he can, the damn front door stops him short––and calls out to his friend. He shucks his shoes off, readjusting the satchel that keeps his work uniform hidden. The clock reads only slightly after ten. He was only needed for a few hours to fill in for another server, so ten is early for him. Jaehwan calls out for him again with no response. Jaehwan suspected Taekwoon would be gone again, so he asked the exorcists to cleanse the house, but he had expected Taekwoon to be home by now. Where is he?

Jaehwan marches up the stairs. “Taekwoon?”

No answer. Jaehwan checks downstairs again and notices Taekwoon’s shoes by the door. He walks back upstairs. The older’s bedroom door is shut. Jaehwan leaves his satchel by his own door then comes back to stand in front of Taekwoon’s. He shifts from his tiptoes to his heels several times before deciding to knock. Again no response. Light seeps from under the door. 

Jaehwan knocks again. “Taekwoon? I, uh, have a question.” Nothing. Jaehwan folds his arms then unfolds them. He reaches out to grab the doorknob; he slowly turns it. 

Not locked.

“Uh, Taekwoon? If, uh, you’re not decent, then get decent. I’m coming in.”

Jaehwan pokes his head in, eyes shut. The lack of reaction causes Jaehwan to open his eyes. He then covers his mouth to stop from laughing. 

Taekwoon lies sprawled on his bed, mouth open and drooling slightly onto his bed covers. A book rests a few inches from his hand. He is still fully dressed, meaning he most likely did not mean to fall asleep. 

Jaehwan toes around all the labyrinth of books to make it to the bed. He waits a moment, eyes tracing the tangled shape of Taekwoon’s undone hair against his pillow, and then tries to nudge the older awake. “Hey. Hey, you have to wake up.”

Taekwoon curls away from Jaehwan’s hand. He mumbles gibberish, brow furrowed and cheek smeared with drool. 

Jaehwan chuckles. Taekwoon has always been a heavy sleeper, and nothing short of the house falling down will wake him. Instead of fighting with him, Jaehwan finds a spare blanket to cover him and puts the book on his nightstand. Jaehwan keeps his question to himself. In the morning, he will have to ask Taekwoon about amulets and hope the older does not mind explaining them for the third time. 

Jaehwan readies himself for bed, practicing his expressions in the mirror and reaffirming to himself that things are okay. He leaves on the amulet, against his will, and crawls into bed. The wizard’s magic has long since cycled out of his system, but Jaehwan is left with the memory of his touch. It nearly undoes the small affirmations he practiced, so in his mind, Jaehwan calls up the image of Taekwoon curled in a messy sleep. So at ease and calm. 

It still takes Jaehwan awhile to find sleep, but when he does he sleeps for the full night. 

When Jaehwan goes to find the older in the morning, however, Taekwoon is gone. 

 

//

 

A droplet of sweat slides between Taekwoon’s shoulder blades. It takes his full concentration to piece together the shards of the vase, to keep his magic flowing throughout his body. He has to keep the flow constant, keeping all the channels open, but never rushing. Like a river held back by a dam, the water must be let out slowly instead of released all at once. Magic works in the same way. 

His focus is interrupted by the sighs of amazement around him. Taekwoon doubles his efforts to keep his eyes on his work. If he loses the flow now, it could all come apart. 

The intricate flower pattern on the vase gave Taekwoon some clue as to how to put it back together. The harder task, though, is resealing the pieces back to their form. 

“This is the Wolf’s apprentice? I never knew he had one.” The woman thinks she is quiet enough, but Taekwoon still hears her. He grits his back teeth together. “Simply amazing.”

Taekwoon lets out a tentative breath and readjusts his grip on the vase. Over half is completed, but it will not be done until he layers a final spell over the whole, providing one last precaution against his own magic coming undone. 

How much time has passed? An hour? Two hours? Sweat drips onto his sleeve, and he hopes the family gathered around him does not notice. The wife keeps peering over his shoulder, gasping at the way he puts her vase back together. The man, a notable merchant that Taekwoon knew nothing of, has to keep admonishing her in loud, brusque tones, defeating the purpose of letting Taekwoon concentrate. Only the young daughter manages to stay silent, keeping her hands in her lap to keep from shaking the tiny table. 

Taekwoon bites his lip, urging his magic into a larger stream. He can feel it weakening, his reserves emptying. One hand holding the vase, he grabs another piece. He needs to hurry but he cannot be too quick or else the vase’s structure will be weak. Worse, if the wife fills it with water only to have it drain through cracks Taekwoon failed to seal, she will know who to blame. 

His reputation hinges on the success of this stupid vase. 

The merchant was the one who sent the original request for Heo to fortify the glass panes of his windows for the fast approaching winter. A request that, even if Heo was in the country, he would have refused. 

Reason one: Heo hates magicking something another human can do with their bare hands––especially something as inane as sealing _windows_. Heo has a firm belief that magic is not for the willy-nilly. If you can do it without magic, then do it. 

Reason two: he hates people. 

While Taekwoon is just as picky when it comes to people, he is not so with monetary affairs. 

This whole week has been spent brewing potions for his regular clients and doing these trivial tasks for the family. So far, he sealed each and every window, repaired the daughter’s doll, and now is onto the wife’s vase. The vase has proved the most difficult thus far. The windows were at least still intact, and the doll’s porcelain head had only cracked in half. The little girl had watched him with tears in his eyes until she was sure her doll was healed. 

Taekwoon places the last piece onto the vase, fitting into final hole. He urges his magic to last long enough to finish. For the umpteenth time, he wishes he had an amulet––a real amulet. On projects like these he risks burning out. Opening yourself to the stream of magic and continuing to use it long after your reservoir is empty has been proven to be dangerous, resulting in minor to major injuries. 

With only a bit of magic to spare, Taekwoon releases the vase and sets it onto the table. It gleams, appearing as one whole instead of cracked pieces. 

The wife squeals. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” She makes to reach for the vase, but Taekwoon holds out an arm. 

He stumbles over his words to say, “It’s not quite finished.”

The husband harumphs, grumbling about not getting hysterical, and Taekwoon does his best to school his expression into something of ambivalence. He needs their money. 

Taekwoon takes a deep breath and passes his hands just above the vase’s surface. He closes his eyes, whispering the specific spell that will hold together his work. The process only takes a few minutes, but Taekwoon’s heart pounds in his chest as he expends the last dregs of his magic.

He gasps when he finishes the spell. 

The daughter asks, “Is the spell done?”

Taekwoon looks across at her. He can tell that she is drawn to the magic rather than the vase, much like the mother but unlike her in that the girl cares nothing for the vase’s outcome. He tells her, “Yes.”

The wife snatches her vase and immediately hands it off to a maid standing nearby. “Fill this with water and bring it back to us. Quickly!” 

The husband twitches his mustache and rubs a hand over his receding hairline. “You’re a good man––a good man.” He gives Taekwoon a clap on the back, which makes Taekwoon shrink further into the chair. The husband walks around the table to consult the wife about something, and Taekwoon lets his head tip back into the chair’s cushion. His breathing still comes out ragged.

“Sir, are you alright?”

Taekwoon looks at the daughter, still seated. “Yes, I’m alright.” 

“Why did it take you so long?”

Taekwoon pats his fingers against his temples, discreetly trying to wipe away the sweat. “My magic only lasts so long, and unfortunately, fixing things with magic takes a great deal of energy.” Taekwoon pauses. “I have to focus all that energy and control it. Especially since the pieces of vase are fragile, I had to make sure I wouldn’t break them even more.” 

The girl nods, seeming satisfied with the response. She glances at her parents, still conversing in hushed tones in the corner of the room, then back to Taekwoon. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The girl leaves the table to find the drink herself. 

No sooner does she leave the room does the wife exclaim, “Oh, wonderful! How wonderful!” Taekwoon peers around the side of the chair. The maid has walked back in clutching the vase. Judging from the lack of water on the floor, Taekwoon assumes he was successful.

The wife rushes back to Taekwoon’s side, hands clasped together. “I can’t thank you enough, my dear.” 

Before Taekwoon can say anything, the husband lays a heavy hand on his shoulder, hemming him in from the other side. Taekwoon stares at the thick rings on the man’s fingers. “This should be enough, right?”

A blue velvet pouch drops onto the table before him, jingling as it hits the surface. The man firms his grip on Taekwoon’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. Taekwoon wants to shrug him off but steels himself against that instinct. “That should do, right?” He twitches his mustache. “We really do appreciate your help. Absolutely superb. You should be proud.” 

Taekwoon wants to slide deeper into the chair. He resists that instinct as well. Instead he reaches out and takes the pouch, loosening the drawstrings to look at the coins inside. Taekwoon tries to hide his shock. It is much more than what he should have been paid.

“Sir, I––”

“No, no.” The man thumps him on the back twice. “Despite the circumstances you did a very good job. I can tell that you’ve worked hard, and––now my family is happy.” Taekwoon watches him dart a look at his wife. The generous compensation was not all his idea, then. 

The daughter returns at that moment to hand Taekwoon his water, her doll tucked under her arm. Her eyes remain fixed on him. 

Taekwoon turns to look the businessman in the eye. He clutches the money with both of his hands, crushing the pretty velvet. He licks his lips, ignoring the touch as best he can, and says, “Well, then I thank you.”

Taekwoon walks slowly home, his body lethargic from expending so much power. Although his magic restores faster than most people, it still leaves Taekwoon tired, made worse tonight by the long walk home. Many of New Haven’s wealthy merchants live outside the city limits, but this family lives near the shopping district, much closer but still far removed from the small shops and poor houses that skirt the lower half of the city, where Taekwoon is headed. 

Every night this week Taekwoon has arrived home late. His new routine is to walk in, say hello to Jaehwan if around, shower, fall asleep. The small jobs at the merchant’s house drain him of all his magic and energy, causing him to doze in the shower. Earlier in the week, Jaehwan even tucked him, and he did not wake up. 

In the meantime, the money grows on Taekwoon’s dresser. 

He still needs to give it to Jaehwan. Can he just leave the money in his room? Taekwoon likes this approach because he will not have to explain why or how it appeared. Initially. Jaehwan will eventually realize a bag of money has been dumped into his room. 

But they keep missing each other. Taekwoon either comes home early and falls asleep before Jaehwan comes home, or Jaehwan is already in his room by the time Taekwoon does. While Taekwoon blames a possible change in Jaehwan’s work schedule as the cause, it could work to his advantage if he decides to leave the money in his room; Jaehwan will have to track him down.

But until he figures out what to do, Taekwoon will keep finding ways to grow the little fund.

So when another letter slips through the mail slot, this time from a councilwoman inquiring about a crack in her fountain, Taekwoon quickly drafts a response. The letter is addressed to him this time, not Heo, and in the body of the letter the woman mentions that the wife of merchant––the one with the window issue––referred Taekwoon to her. Taekwoon folds the letter, magicks it to fly to the proper address, and readies his satchel for another repair. 

The councilwoman fawns over his work and thanks him endlessly, Taekwoon aware of the hand she places on his arm as she does so. She even brings out her husband to see the fixed fountain, who does not seem as impressed but concedes that the work is “darn good.”

Two days pass without any letters, but on the morning of the third, Taekwoon finally receives one, asking if he would be willing to fix a series of necklaces for the mayor’s cousin’s wife. Taekwoon sets out immediately. He repairs the chains, clasps, and pendants of more than twenty different jewelry items, and while the work is not the most interesting or difficult, the servants supply him with a plate of small biscuits with jam and butter and a pitcher of milk to occupy his stomach. When he finally finishes repairing the jewlery, the mayor’s cousin’s wife requests him to polish the chains, and he does that as well. 

“My dear,” she says, breathless with wonder at the magicked jewelry. She brushes something invisible from Taekwoon’s shoulder, eyes piercing him like a needle in a pin cushion. “What’s your name again?” 

“Taekwoon.” 

She quirks her brows. “That’s all?” 

Most wizards go by a title, like Heo going by the title Wolf. Taekwoon shifts his weight to his other foot, glancing at woman’s fingernails which trail down his arm. He subtly shifts away. “I don’t belong to any of the wizard houses. I’m just an apprentice.” 

“That is true.” She studies him, raking him over with probing eyes as a jeweler would with a misused bit of stone. “But what family do you belong to?” She circled him, as if to find his origin somewhere on him. “I feel as if I should know your parents.”

“I don’t have a family name. The Wolf adopted me when I was young.” Taekwoon meant to tell her anything else, but the words rushed out before he could hold them back. Maybe the air of condescension in her voice provoked him. Maybe his own resentment goaded him into it. More likely it is both.

The woman barks out a laugh. “The Wolf of New Haven adopted a _child_? Well, I’ve never heard that.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “But I suppose it fits; he has always been odd. So, you’re his _pup_ then.”

“No.” Taekwoon is quick to refute that name. “Uh, no, please. Jung Taekwoon is my full name.” Anything but “pup.” It would be unfortunate if that stuck. 

The woman smiles. “Alright, then, Jung Taekwoon. I imagine you’re going to be very popular if you keep up this level of work.” 

After leaving, Taekwoon puts her calculating eyes out of mind, disregarding the interaction. He spends two more weeks fulfilling requests before his conversation with the woman comes back to him. 

It could have been anyone to give out his name. Some of the richest people in New Haven treat him like a new toy, passing Taekwoon, the skilled apprentice, around as their bragging rights pile higher and higher. Their want to outdo each other ensures that Taekwoon always has multiple requests fill. His newest and most shocking connection could have come from anyone––true––but it the way the mayor’s cousin’s wife looked at him, a jeweler setting the stone in its proper place, that marks her as the root of the next chain of events. 

After spending all afternoon patching holes in a ship’s sail, Taekwoon finds, hanging from the front door’s mail slot, the letter. He removes it, glancing at the front of the envelope, no identifying name, and turns it over to see an unfamiliar wax seal. He frowns. 

Inside the door is the rest of the mail that managed to make it through the slot, and he lays the whole pile on the table. Taekwoon drops his satchel to the floor and falls into the nearest chair, his legs nearly giving out. The sails were much harder to repair than he thought, taking more out of him than he expected. He rubs at his temples then begins to sift through the pile, tossing aside the bills and plucking out a letter addressed from Heo. 

Taekwoon tears it open, his master’s scrawl barely legible, but it only takes Taekwoon a glance to distinguish the brief message––a reminder to check in on a customer that only orders every few months followed by two words are written bigger than all the others: “Be good.” Taekwoon scowls, shoving the letter away. 

Finally, he reaches the envelope with the wax seal. He tugs a thumb underneath the seal; he feels as if he should recognize it but cannot place it in his memory. It is unsurprising, though. New Haven brims with businesses and names and logos, families and crests, organizations and whatever else. He could have picked it up from anywhere.

Taekwoon slips the letter out and––

“Taekwoon? Are you here?” Jaehwan’s voice echoes from upstairs. His quick footsteps tramp through the upstairs hall, down the stairs, and then over to stand at the table. He faces Taekwoon, one arm hugging his body and the other holding up the offending object. His tattered long-sleeve shirt and cotton pants, along with the messy shape of his hair, hint that he just woke from a nap. “What is this?”

Taekwoon eyes the blue velvet pouch. In the end, he thought of nothing better.

“Well….”

Jaehwan shakes the pouch, coins jingling violently. “This was on my dresser.” His voice rises with confusion and then with accusation. “I know you put it there. Why?” His eyebrows are dipped together, seeming more irate than Taekwoon predicted, possibly thanks to the nap. 

“I just thought it would help,” he answers. 

“Help with what?” Jaehwan’s expression turns from confused to guarded, more irritation coming through. “I don’t know where you got all this, but you can take it back.”

Jaehwan tries to leave the pouch on the table, but Taekwoon drops the letter to cover Jaehwan’s hand with his own. “No, this is yours.” He pushes the pouch back in Jaehwan’s hand. 

“No, it’s not. What––you’re just giving it to me?”

“Yes.” 

“For what?” Jaehwan’s tone sharpens, completely taken aback. 

Taekwoon keeps his hold on Jaehwan. He says in a calm voice, “It’s for the exorcists. I wanted to help––just in this way––so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“No, take it back.”

Taekwoon blinks. “No, it’s yours.”

Jaehwan successfully shoves away the pouch this time, and it falls to its side, a few gold coins spilling out. He stares at the coins then back at Taekwoon. “Where’d you even get all that? Is this why I haven’t been seeing you?”

“I’ve taken on a few side-jobs, and they pay me well.” 

Jaehwan narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. “Side-jobs doing what?”

“Fixing things. People have asked me to do this and that, and it’s better than making potions. Pays better, at least.”

“Which people?”

Taekwoon steels himself for the reaction he knows is coming. “Merchants,” he says. “Some council members.” He glimpses Jaehwan’s incredulous expression and rises from the table to take the nearest mug to the kitchen sink. All the way to the kitchen do Jaehwan’s footsteps echo his. Taekwoon wishes they could drop the subject, that he could redo this moment. 

Jaehwan hovers beside Taekwoon at the sink. 

When Taekwoon can take it no longer he looks up to see Jaehwan’s big eyes fixed on him. Perhaps stupidly, Taekwoon asks, “What?”

“ _What?_ Taekwoon, what are you doing? You can’t be serious.” 

Taekwoon immediately balks at the accusatory tone. He furrows his brows. “I am serious.” 

Jaehwan flaps his hands, voice still rising. “Does Heo know?”

“No.”

“So, how––”

“They think I have the permission.” At Jaehwan’s expression, Taekwoon adds, “His signature is easy to forge. Don’t tell me you haven’t done it before.”

Jaehwan colors, whether from embarrassment or anger Taekwoon is unsure. “You––” Jaehwan takes a steadying breath. “If someone finds out, you could be in so much trouble. Taekwoon, this is so stupid.”

Taekwoon clenches his hands into fists, irritation leaking into his own voice. “It’s better than making the same potions every week.”

“I didn’t mean––”

“And I also did it so I could _help_ you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Jaehwan snaps and throws his arms out. “Not like this!” 

The weeks of going home-to-home, passed between upper-class, suddenly weigh so much heavier. Taekwoon’s aching limbs and near-empty reserve of magic means nothing. Taekwoon firms his jaw as he looks into Jaehwan’s pinched face, thoughts bumping together in his head. He wants to argue. 

But instead he turns on his heel and skulks out of the kitchen. Jaehwan must be grumpy from his nap. If Taekwoon says something now, then he will regret it later. He takes a steadying breath and heads toward the basement, biting his tongue. 

Jaehwan, this time, does not follow.

Taekwoon descends the basement stairs, flinging a hand behind him, and the door bangs shut to leave him in darkness. He hears Jaehwan’s angry footsteps above him. Taekwoon summons the smallest bit of magic to his fingers, letting it lead his path to the light switch. After the basement floods itself with light, Taekwoon falls onto the workbench. 

His pride stings.

He waits out his sour mood until he feels civil again, prepping orders that he has fallen behind on, and only then does he reemerge. The main floor shows no signs of Jaehwan; he must be back upstairs. Taekwoon passes by the table but then stops, eyes landing on the unread letter. He unfolds it, the first words reading, _“Hello, Jung Taekwoon.”_

Jaehwan descends from the second floor at that moment, and Taekwoon’s eyes once again turn away from the letter. He notices that Jaehwan is decidedly avoiding eye contact as he makes his way to the front door. 

Fine. 

Taekwoon runs his tongue over his teeth, observing the satchel on Jaehwan’s shoulder. He tries to keep his tone even when he says, “Have a good time demon hunting.” 

“What?” Jaehwan stares at Taekwoon, clearly thrown off by the remark. He has one foot in a shoe and the other only half-way on. He appears to be frozen.

Taekwoon raises a brow. “The theatre’s closed today, right? I thought you were meeting Hongbin’s exorcists since you have your bag.” 

Jaehwan unfreezes and slowly slips the second shoe on. He drops his head to look at his laces. “Right. Yeah.” He mumbles, “I’ll be back later.”

Taekwoon’s frown etches deeper onto his face as Jaehwan says a short “bye” and darts out the door. He is reminded of the night that Jaehwan “slipped” in the grass. Taekwoon knows there must be something that Jaehwan does not want to share. 

“Dammit,” he hisses. 

Although his mood has taken another dip, Taekwoon brings the letter back up to finally get through it. He expects––he hopes––that it is just another request for work. But as his eyes scan the page, a numbness unfurls in him, more and more with every line he reads. 

His breath quickens, though he is unaware of it. His hands tremble, so bad that he has to lay the letter on the table. He reads the letter three more times before he marches upstairs with it to his room.

Taekwoon flings open his door and nearly falls to his knees beside his bed. He crawls under, as much as he can because he no longer fits, but his fingertips graze the small brown box pushed to the very back. He jerks it out, clumps of dust coming with it. 

Taekwoon coughs and swipes his hand over the top to brush away more dust. His hands still shake, his stomach giving a violent twist. He lifts the top off and pulls out the little hospital tag labeled “No. 2836452”. He checks the tag against the number included in the letter. 

It matches. 

Taekwoon’s breaths come faster and shorter, and one of his hands grips his bed for support. A slew emotions course through him. A mixture of anger and sadness, but also happiness? No, not that. Taekwoon firms his chin and swallows. Whatever he does he should not be hasty. He needs to think this through. He…. He leans his head against his bed, shoulders sagging forward. For once, logic has no appeal.

Beside Taekwoon lays the letter, only the last paragraph and closing visible. It reads:

_…I left you with a small box. I am afraid this was selfish of me; I never wanted you to forget that someone gave birth to you. I named you, and I cared for you the short time you were with me. I am deeply sorry I have to say this in a letter, and I understand if you do not want to meet, but now that I know you are well, I would love to talk. I am sure that you have questions. Please send a reply._

_Love,_  
_Song Jieun_  
_(or, if you will,_  
_your loving mother)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- if you haven't seen the video of jin and ken dancing when they see each other pls do


	4. Chapter 4

“Try again.” 

Jaehwan summons the weak bit of magic to his fingertips, glowing soft yellow, and grunts as he wills the magic to travel through his body and out of his hands. But still, only a pittance of magic escapes. 

Jaehwan releases his focus and the magic disappears.

“Maybe we need a break.” Hongbin pats Jaehwan’s knee and stands from his couch to circle into the kitchen. Jaehwan has seen cardboard boxes bigger than Hongbin’s apartment. The one-bedroom apartment is truly meant for a single occupant who hates guests. Hongbin and Jaehwan both tried walking down the hallway once and learned the heard way that single-file is the only way to approach it. 

Hongbin returns with a glass of water and sets it before Jaehwan on the coffee table. “Vibrate the surface.”

Jaehwan stares at Hongbin. “My confidence has taken a thorough beating.” 

“Just this last time.”

Jaehwan looks from Hongbin to the glass of water. He screws his eyes shut. He lays his hands on the glass and imagines his magic running through his body, coursing through his arms and into his fingertips and into the water. 

“Anything?”

Hongbin is quiet for a long while. “A little? Maybe.” 

Jaehwan drops his hands. “It’s useless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” But it is disappointing. Nothing has changed. He frowns and throws himself against the back of the couch. He folds his arms over his chest.

Hongbin watches him for a moment before stating, “Something’s wrong. And not the magic. I know it’s not the magic.”

“Don’t over-think it.”

Hongbin levels Jaehwan with a quirked brow, leaning in closer. “Please. Don’t try lying to me. What’s this about?”

“I just wanted help. I wanted to try again.”

“Well, I’m glad to try and help.” Hongbin mimics Jaehwan’s pose, head back and arms folded, while he leans in closer and closer. Hongbin has a knack for observance; Jaehwan has never been able to hide things from him. “But what about Taekwoon? He can’t help you?”

“He’s busy.” 

“Oh, really?”

Jaehwan glares at the ceiling, fingertips tightening on his forearms. “Did you know about what he’s been doing?”

“I haven’t seen him since––I don’t know––two weeks ago or so?”

“He’s been doing extra work.”

“That’s…bad?”

Jaehwan turns his head toward Hongbin. “You can’t tell anyone. You swear?” Only when Hongbin nods, does Jaehwan explain what Taekwoon confessed.

Hongbin’s eyes widen. “He, _what_? Do you think Heo will report him? I mean, what happens when he comes back? He’s bound to find out.”

Jaehwan starts to answer but stops. In truth, he has no idea. He would think not, but Heo has always been adamant about certain things. Even if he did not report Taekwoon, would he terminate his apprenticeship? Jaehwan rubs his face. “I really don’t know.” He mashes the heel of his shoe into the floor as he finds a way to say the next part. “And…we argued yesterday. So I didn’t want to bother him with this.” 

“What––coaching you?” Hongbin’s brows scrunch closer together. “What did you argue about?” 

Jaehwan describes the situation with the money, and once he finishes, Hongbin asks, “Does it make you feel indebted to him? Is that the problem?”

“It makes me feel like a charity case. I know he didn’t mean it like that, but it still makes me feel…” Jaehwan’s eyes drift to Hongbin’s paisley pattern cushions, “worthless.” 

Hongbin understands better than anyone else Jaehwan’s struggle with his self-worth. Hongbin is the one person Jaehwan sees as a true confidant. The things too difficult to tell Taekwoon, he tells Hongbin. They became friends while at Blessed Boys, sharing a dorm but also thoughts and feelings that he would not dare tell Taekwoon. 

Hongbin lays a hand on Jaehwan’s shoulder. “Jaehwan––”

“It’s stupid; I already know––” 

Jaehwan’s words are cut off by Hongbin’s sudden hug. It might be just a quick squeeze, Hongbin’s fingers combing the the back of Jaehwan’s hair, but it sets off a chain reaction in Jaehwan. The pillars that supported his bitterness slowly crumble, taking the anger with it. All that is left is a soft warmth within him. 

Though Hongbin hugs him no longer, the younger remains close. Their thighs almost touch. He tells Jaehwan, “You need to tell Taekwoon. You already said that you know he didn’t mean it to hurt you, and you know him better than anyone. I know that he’ll understand.” Hongbin pauses for a second and adds, “He cares about you so much; he’ll listen.”

A blush creeps to Jaehwan’s cheeks. “I– I know that. It’s just…” He drops off at Hongbin’s expression. “What?” 

Hongbin narrows his eyes then takes his finger to flick Jaehwan’s ear. Hongbin studies him as if he has discovered something, noting the tell-tale blush that has spread to Jaehwan’s ears and down his neck. He asks, “Do you still like Taekwoon?” 

If possible, Jaehwan’s blush worsens. “Not at all,” he says. “Wh– What gives you that idea? That was so long ago; I told you that years ago, Hongbin.” 

Hongbin raises a single eyebrow, mouth flat. “Uh-huh. So you’re telling me that this––” he gestures to the whole of Jaehwan, “––isn’t because you may possibly have an inkling of a bit of feelings for him?”

At the moment, Jaehwan feels nothing but embarrassment. His hands slide over his face, and he wishes the couch cushions would absorb him, taking him away from Hongbin’s interrogation. “No,” he groans into his palms. “It’s n– nothing like that.” 

A long pause. “Mmm,” Hongbin hums. “I’m just checking.” 

“I told you about that when we were in school.” Jaehwan should really keep his mouth shut, but when flustered, his rambling gets the better of him. “You really think that after all this time––”

“I was just wondering.” Hongbin gives him a pointed look as Jaehwan removes his hands from his face. “Just wondering if you had anything you’d like to share.” 

“I––”

But a brief knock on the door sends Hongbin to his feet, hastily rolling up his unbuttoned sleeves. Jaehwan believes that whoever is at the door will not care about the state of Hongbin’s sleeves, but he keeps the thought to himself, relieved that Hongbin, the one-man investigation team, has shifted focus. But Jaehwan’s relief is short-lived, fleeing as Hongbin opens the door. 

Jaehwan notices the stranger’s ears and tail first. The tail swishes behind him as he stands in the hall, and Jaehwan thinks that he spies a smile on Hongbin’s face. Hongbin moves aside to let the stranger in. 

If this is who Jaehwan thinks it is––

The stranger fixes his yellow eyes on Jaehwan. “And who’s this?” 

Hongbin looks back at Jaehwan, as if he forgot he was here. He hesitates slightly, only slightly, as a look of confusion crosses his face. “Oh, sorry,” he says, looking between the two. “Jaehwan, this is Hakyeon, Hakyeon––Jaehwan. I didn’t realize you both hadn’t met.”

Jaehwan’s eyes may pop out of his head if they widen more. He tries to control his expression, a feat harder than one would think. He was right. _This_ is Hakyeon. Jaehwan thrusts his hand out and blurts, “Hello.” 

Hakyeon grips Jaehwan’s hand––strong, very strong––and they lock eyes. Jaehwan stares into the elongated pupils, growing more and more flustered in the passing silence. But then Hakyeon’s mouth stretches into a smile. “Hello. You’re Taekwoon’s friend.” 

Jaehwan notices his words are not phrased as a question. A flutter of anxiety tugs at him. He answers, so eloquently, “Uh, yeah.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You too.” The flutter turns into a claw that grips his spine. He is always uncoordinated while meeting new people, and he fears Hakyeon must think the worst of him. Jaehwan drops Hakyeon’s hand and clamps his mouth shut to prevent himself from saying anything else embarrassing. Hakyeon, though, turns back to Hongbin.

“How are you?” 

“Fine. You?”

“Tired.” 

Hakyeon lays his coat and scarf on the small kitchen table, and Jaehwan wants to say something to him, but what if that something damages his already poor standing with him? Jaehwan opens his mouth, but then Hongbin asks, “Jaehwan, did you want to try again?”

“Huh?” Jaehwan’s eyes follow to where Hongbin points, and he realizes that Hongbin means the glass of water. “Oh. No, it’s fine.” 

“What are you doing?” Hakyeon comes to lean against the couch, inches from where Jaehwan sits. Jaehwan stiffens, measuring and re-measuring the space between them. Would someone stand so close to someone else that they hate? Jaehwan would not. He (hesitantly) takes this as a sign that Hakyeon may not hate him as much as he thinks. 

“Practicing magic,” Hongbin says.

“Oh, nice.” 

“Yeah.” 

Jaehwan glances up at Hakyeon, eyes briefly catching the flick of his tail. He chances the words, “Unfortunately, I need to be tutored.” 

Hakyeon looks down the length of his nose at Jaehwan, eyes cutting into him, not unkind but…intense. He tells Jaehwan, “Not a thing wrong with that.” 

And while Jaehwan believes him, Jaehwan is still sure that whatever measurement Hakyeon uses to judge people, he falls short. Jaehwan wonders how much Taekwoon told Hakyeon about him. He wonders what Hongbin has said. Taekwoon did mention his relationship with Hakyeon was nothing more than friendly, but Taekwoon has always been dense in certain matters.

So maybe he lied to Hongbin.

Jaehwan leaves soon after Hakyeon’s arrival, but it did not take long to note Hakyeon’s easy confidence––something Jaehwan could never match. 

The thought bothers Jaehwan.

On the way home, he compares himself to Hakyeon. A person so warm and charismatic could make anyone fall in love. If Jaehwan was someone else, someone less enamored with Taekwoon, he would have fallen in love back there. 

But he is Jaehwan––Lee Jaehwan. His self-esteem is stronger on some days, but today, of course, it scratches the floor, dragging behind his feet. Who would want someone like him?

Why should someone settle for a morsel when they want a feast? 

Jaehwan sucks in a deep breath of cold air, his throat sore. The city pulses with life despite the cold weather, and Jaehwan is just a small part of the working whole. He is no one in the grand scheme of it all. He tells himself that his problems are insignificant in the long run, that they mean little, that in five years or seven they will mean nothing to him.

He snorts. It has already been years––god, it feels like a lifetime––that Jaehwan has harbored a stomach full of butterflies for Taekwoon. Sometimes the butterflies retreat on their own, but other times Jaehwan has had to force them away. 

But they always come back. 

It troubles him, thinking they will be with him forever. Jaehwan will watch his friend fall in love with someone else, with someone more deserving, and he has resigned himself to this fate, but it still makes his chest ache. 

Jaehwan had thought he was alright once, thinking he could bury his feelings, but then Taekwoon slept with the vampire and every ugly feeling came roaring to the surface. Jaehwan left Taekwoon, not for the sake of his own feelings but because he could not bear to burden Taekwoon any longer. As Jaehwan learned, though, Taekwoon had seen the situation differently. 

Jaehwan lets himself think of Taekwoon’s warm hands on his shoulders, communicating reassurance in a single touch. He thinks of the way Taekwoon’s hair hangs in his face or falls out of his small ponytails. He thinks of Taekwoon throwing an arm around his shoulders, as he likes to do, and pulling him close, so close, and Jaehwan tucking himself under his arm. In Jaehwan’s dreams, he wraps his arms around Taekwoon’s middle and pulls the older even closer to him, not letting go. 

He thinks of a younger version of Taekwoon, the one that liked to make and smoke his own rolls of powder, blowing purple clouds of smoke from his mouth in pretty shapes. Looking like younger copy of their master but never admitting to it. 

He thinks of Taekwoon wearing his long work robe as it drags across the ground behind him. The frayed hem testifies to how often he wears it but also how long he has had it––so long.

Finally, Jaehwan thinks of Taekwoon with a soft smile on his face. It is the smile he wears after he finishes doling out the potions to his customers, after discovering something new from his books, after performing magic as he pleases. 

Jaehwan reaches a street corner and pauses for a moment, gluing his back to the front of a building. He pats his hand over his chest, checking on his heart, then touches both cheeks. He steadies himself with one, two, three deep breaths.

Jaehwan will stay as long as Taekwoon wants him to, but he will never burden Taekwoon again––not with how much he loves him, not with his hurt feelings, and not with anything else. Taekwoon does not need to give him money, nor know the fragility of Jaehwan’s feelings, and Taekwoon certainly does not need to help with the demon.

Because Taekwoon deserves better. 

Taekwoon has always been his anchor, even in Jaehwan’s roughest times he has been able to ground himself by remembering that Taekwoon is there for him. He relies on Taekwoon so much that taking any more from him seems wrong. Taking the money, taking his time, taking his attention…. 

Jaehwan makes a fist over his heart, digging his nails into his palm. Taekwoon has always been there, so Jaehwan will get rid of the demon––no matter the lengths. Why try using magic that he knows will not work for him? Jaehwan exhales in frustration and pushes off the wall. 

It is not fair that he can only use Chaos magic. Try harder––that is what he always tells himself. If Order does not work for him, then he must not be trying hard enough, right? The magic works for everyone else, does it not? Jaehwan has never heard of other magic-users only capable of using Chaos. He scoffs.

He reminds himself that he still needs to find an amulet. Perhaps, after all, that is what he has been missing. He had been waiting to get Taekwoon’s opinion, but with last night’s argument between them, Jaehwan decides to forgo it. A week from today, the exorcists plan to corner the demon. If Jaehwan can find an amulet in time, then he will take part in the sending, ridding himself of the demon once and for all. 

Because he has to send the demon. No matter the risk. 

 

//

 

Taekwoon pulls at his sleeves. Then he readjusts his posture. After that, he smooths his hair behind his ears, making sure it is pushed away from his face. Underneath the table, his knee bounces in a tight rhythm. 

He has his eyes on the teahouse’s entrance; every time he looks around the room, the tinkling bell snaps his attention back to the entrance. He has no idea who to even expect. The table for two seems too small, but a bigger table did not seem necessary to him. 

She said she would be coming alone but gave no clue as to what she would look like. 

Taekwoon’s eyes dart around the room again, the many inhabitants all seeming to be from middle- to upper-class standing. He focuses on the women with their colorful gowns. Not much separates them in terms of style––little lacy gloves and rosy cheeks and pointed shoes. Taekwoon panics thinking he will have to identify this woman claiming to be his mother by looks alone. 

_Just look for someone that looks like you. Right?_

As if it is that simple. 

Taekwoon has always wondered if he was paper cut-out of his father or mother or a perfectly spliced formation of the two. In this moment, however, he sends up a prayer that if this is his mother, he looks like her. 

“Still waiting, sir?” 

Taekwoon looks to his side to see the friendly waitress. He gives a brief nod, and she moves away to check on other customers. She has been by twice so far. Taekwoon would love tea, but he already checked the prices from the little menu card; he would feel ridiculous spending that much on tea whether or not he now has extra padding in his pocket. 

The money issue makes Taekwoon think of Jaehwan again. He neglected to tell Jaehwan he who he was meeting, and guilt has been steadily creeping into his consciousness since he penned the response letter to Song Jieun, agreeing that he would meet with her. Taekwoon did not tell Jaehwan because he is still upset but because…just in case this is a mistake––just in case this woman is lying to him. He would hate to embarrass himself. 

_“Jaehwan, remember the mother I told you about? She’s not my mother. Big surprise, right?”_

Best to keep it to himself until he has more information. 

And he has not checked (definitely not), but the velvet bag has remained on the kitchen table since the night of the argument. Because his juggling of jobs as potion-maker and newest his newest clientele, Taekwoon has seen little of his friend since that night, several days ago. He knows the other comes home––his shoes are always by the door and Taekwoon sometimes hears him in his room––but their brief exchanges of words, when they do make contact, feel stiff.

Taekwoon pauses as he counts back the days and the sightings of Jaehwan, suddenly alarmed. He was wrong; their argument would have been a week ago from today, which means that they have not properly talked in a week. He lets a heavy sigh loose. Between everything going on, he somehow let time get away from him. Tonight, he swears, he will talk to Jaehwan. 

The door tinkles, interrupting Taekwoon’s troubling revelation, and his eyes snap to the newcomer, searching the new woman’s face. In her face, he looks for answers he has wondered his whole life. Are they of the same blood? Was she the one who left him on the orphanage’s step? Taekwoon watches as the woman removes her cream-colored wide-brimmed hat from her head and survey the store. Her eyes find his, and she smiles. 

The woman walks toward him, dressed in a floor-length olive-green dress and a cream handbag hanging from her elbow. Some of the other customers turn and watch her, exchanging a few fierce whispers as she passes their tables. Is she well-known? Taekwoon has no idea who Song Jieun is, but he hastily rises from his seat, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor. His eyes search the woman’s face, measuring her lips and the curves of her eyes and the tip of her nose––looking for his parts within her.

Now standing before him, she smoothes a hand over the bun coiled tight at the base of her neck. Then in a soft voice, she asks, “You are Taekwoon, the Wolf’s apprentice?” 

Taekwoon nods. “Miss Song?” 

She winces––because of his formality?–– and responds, “Yes, hello. I apologize for keeping you waiting.” 

Taekwoon licks his lips. Truthfully, he has been waiting his whole life. 

The woman takes her seat at the table and Taekwoon follows. She lays her hat in her lap and straightens her loose sleeves before smiling at him again. “It seems that I did not prepare for the cold weather.” 

He does not mention that it has been cold for weeks now, that all the signs have pointed toward winter’s oncoming vice grip. Taekwoon wonders how she could not have noticed, but then her appearance makes sense. She must be high-class, Taekwoon thinks, not having to walk to all her destinations. So Taekwoon merely nods and says nothing else.

The woman lets out a sigh, eyes dropping from Taekwoon’s face. Her shoulders droop a little, suddenly seeming more tired than her put-together appearance would hint. She asks, “How are you feeling?” 

Questions climb up Taekwoon’s throat, but out of them all, he asks, “How did you know of me?” He keeps his voice flat, stripping emotion from it. Nervousness, anger, bitterness, and hope––he holds them at bay. He clenches his fist in his lap, trying to keep his face blank too. He wants to give nothing away until he knows for sure if she truly is who she claims. 

The woman, Miss Song, says, “Truthfully, your name has been in circulation.” At that moment, the waitress reappears, eager to finally take an order. Miss Song orders two cups of tea: one for her and one for Taekwoon. He opens his mouth to decline, but she holds up a gloved hand. “It’s the least I can do.” She sighs again, as if uncomfortable with her own words and readjusts her posture in her seat. 

Silence falls between them. The conversation, the one they need to have, can be avoided no longer. Taekwoon clears his throat. “How can I know that you’re telling the truth?” His knee bounces under the table. “Do you have any proof to show that you’re my mother?”

The woman sets her handbag upon the tabletop, pulling out a thick envelope from within. She slides the envelope across the table to him.

Taekwoon flicks his eyes to her.

“Go ahead,” she directs. “You can open it.”

Taekwoon takes the envelop and slips his fingers under the flap to pull out a folded set of papers. He pulls them apart, eyes quickly scanning across the pages. These are documents from Taekwoon’s birth. All the details. How much he weighed, prints of his feet and hands, a cursory check of his vitals and how healthy he was at the time––apparently very healthy. 

Taekwoon stares at her, his mouth suddenly dry. “How did you come across these?”

She smoothes her hands across the table, as if removing creases from a linen sheet. “Because I checked into the Hospital of Peace and Well-Being when I was nineteen.” Miss Song then folds her hands on the table, clasping them together. Her eyes do not waver from Taekwoon’s. “I was in labor for a total of eleven hours and gave birth to a little boy.” She gives him another small smile. The little lines around her mouth and eyes are the only hints at her age. 

Taekwoon shuffles through the papers and flips one over to see a scribbled note. It reads, “Orphanage on Market Street.” The address and a phone number were written underneath. The note could have been new, but Taekwoon finds the documentation harder to refute. Each page bears the hospital's watermark and an official banner heads the page. It had been typed up on a typewriter, the information regarding him filled in by a doctor’s scrawl––their name signed on the bottom of a previous page––and most damning is the date that had been typed in each of the upper-right corners. Over twenty years ago. 

Taekwoon swallows, the emotions he tried to repress now proving harder to keep at bay, and stares at the woman across from him. “Why see me now? Why after all this time?”

The waitress comes back at this moment and sets down the two cups of tea along with small tray of sugar cubes, honey, and cream. Once she moves away does Miss Song begin to speak again. “Unfortunately,” she starts out, hesitating only slightly. “I had to keep you a secret. I gave birth to you in private; very few people knew about it. I had to place you into the Refuge for Young Boys because I had no other options.” 

She licks her lips. “Back then, I left you with a caretaker.” 

“They told me I was left on the doorstep,” Taekwoon cuts across. 

Miss Song blinks and then frowns. “Well, they lied to you. I handed you over to the woman who answered the door.” She waits for Taekwoon to argue, but when he stays silent, she continues. “I also left you with a small box. I’m not sure if you still have it or not. Or,” she scoffs, “if they let you have it.” 

Taekwoon thinks of the box underneath his bed; he has had it for as long as he can remember. In the small box was the necklace he gave to Jaehwan, a small black and white photograph of a bird, and a few slips of paper with random phrases copied onto them. Taekwoon had always puzzled over these things––if they were from his parents, if they had anything to do with him. 

Taekwoon confesses, “I still have it.” 

A look of relief passes over her face. 

Taekwoon focuses on the steam rising from his teacup. Suddenly it feels wrong to have this conversation in public. To converse not two feet from other customers gossiping about their days, the news, the fleeting here and there of stories that don’t belong to them. He looks up at the woman––the woman proving more and more to be his actual mother––and his throat tightens. “What was in the box?” 

“I know I placed the necklace in there,” she says, leaning forward as if eager to share the details. “Also a picture of my bird, as well.” She smiles but her eyes turn sad. “The box was a last minute decision. I had made up my mind to leave you, but I wanted to leave you with _something_. I was in such a panic when deciding what to leave with you. My necklace made the most sense. The picture made less sense and the scraps of paper from my purse even less.” She takes a sip of tea. “It was silly of me.”

Taekwoon feels slightly disappointed the papers were meaningless; he cannot count how many times he poured over those words, hoping they were important. But more than that, Taekwoon can find no other way to explain this woman having the hospital documentation but also knowing about his box. He doubts the caretakers working at the orphanage would still remember him, much less the box. Jaehwan is the only one who would know. 

He looks back up to see Miss Song staring at him with a tentative expression. Finally, after so long of wondering and not knowing, he has definitive proof sitting in front of him that he came from somewhere, that he was someone’s––even if it was just for a brief moment. 

Hesitantly, Taekwoon asks, “And my father….”

Miss Song readjusts once more in her seat. “Like I said, barely anyone knew about your birth.” She rubs the handle of her cup. “I was young, and I thought I knew everything there was to know. I was not married to your father and having a child out of wedlock would have had me stricken from my father’s good graces. Thankfully, your grandfather was living elsewhere at the time, and it only became difficult in the last months to hide my pregnancy.” 

She took another small sip from her cup. “This may sound cruel, but at the time, I was ambitious and wanted nothing more than to inherit my father’s company. I had a few maids that were loyal to me and kept my secret. I was too young and unknown when it was time to go to the hospital that I was able to check in without drawing attention to myself.” 

“You couldn’t have given me to someone else?” But before Taekwoon finishes, Miss Song is already shaking her head. 

“Your father was not reliable and loose-lipped. If he knew, then my secret would have surely been revealed. And I trusted no one else.” She sighs. “I never wanted to leave you where I did, but I felt as if I had to.”

Taekwoon can no longer look her in the eyes, staring at the small stack of sugar cubes instead. His fists are curled in his work robes, tight in his lap. This woman was the one who gave birth to him; she was the one who gave him up. 

“But you….” His mother chuckles, and Taekwoon looks up at the sound. “I never would have found you if you had not become such an adept practitioner of magic. I had several people recommending you for work I need done, and I believe it might have been your name that caught my ear, but Lady Sophia described you to me.” 

It takes him a moment, but Taekwoon realizes Lady Sophia is the wife of the mayor’s cousin, the one so interested in his title. The one who threatened to call him “pup.” 

“Then I was curious. Maybe too hopeful. I searched and asked for all who you serviced, and then I glimpsed you at the shipyard. At the time, I could not break away to talk to you myself, but I watched on as you talked with the ship’s captain. You fixed his sails, correct?” 

Taekwoon nods. 

She chuckles shortly. “After seeing your face, I knew––I just knew––that it had to be you. I had to talk to you. I hope I was not too bold, but I needed your attention somehow. I hoped that if I was wrong that the risk would be minimal, that you would only write me off as a mad-woman.” 

Taekwoon watches as the tears pool in her eyes, and she uses the tips of her gloved fingers to pat them away. His chest clenches. The walls of his heart give way all at once, and his voice trembles as he says, “Perhaps…a risk well-worth it.”

Through her teary eyes, his mother tells him, “I am so, so sorry, my son. So terribly sorry.” 

Those words, the ones he needed to hear, punch through the last of Taekwoon’s reservations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- that part where leo stands by ken in my valentine thanks for my life


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this chapter takes place in the same day as the last part)

The prior weeks of cold air should have warned for the even colder winds that settled overnight in New Haven. That morning Jaehwan stepped out onto the front porch to see a fine layer of frost clinging to the grass, his breath creating white clouds in front of his face. The wind blew right through him, his loose sleeves whipping in the wind. He turned on his heel and snagged a coat. 

By the evening, the frost has disappeared but the winds remain. Jaehwan shifts in the bushes to wrap his coat tighter around himself, but he inadvertently snaps a branch in the process. Sanghyuk, sitting to Jaehwan’s right, shushes him. “Stop moving,” he hisses.

“Sorry,” Jaehwan hisses back but shifts once more. 

The sun quickly descends below the horizon––the bit not obscured by New Haven’s tall buildings––the temperature falling with the sun. Jaehwan tries to shift once more, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. It feels as if they have been sitting in this hedge for an hour. He and the exorcists face an empty lot on the western edge of the city, crouched in a thick tangle of bushes. To their backs is an abandoned building. Sanghyuk’s eyes continuously scan the empty lot while Wonsik goes over each of the items he brought, hand occasionally drifting over the silver gun hidden in his coat. 

“How long do we have to wait?” 

Sanghyuk eyes Jaehwan. His thick goggles are pushed up on his forehead, making the tufts of his blond, spiked hair stand up even more. “You’re not very patient, are you?”

Jaehwan thinks about inserting something quippy about his chattering teeth or the fact that his breath is more visible than any demon, but he opts to press his lips together and save his energy. 

When Jaehwan and the exorcists first assumed their position in the hedge, Jaehwan’s heart beat wildly in his chest, anticipating something they may or may not see. But time and the cold wore him down. His expectations have fallen. Part of him hopes the demon shows up so he can finish this once and for all. 

But, then again, he hopes it does not. His end of the plan may still fail. Jaehwan reaches under the neck of his shirt to where the amulet lays flat against his skin. It thrums as he clenches his hand around it. The feeling of his magic leeching through his skin was odd to him at first, but he did like the look of the amulet slowly coming to life as magic filled it more and more…. Proof that magic lies somewhere in him. 

It took Jaehwan nearly a week to scour the whole city for a decent amulet, finding one finally last night. To get it, he had to part with a large portion of his coin-purse; the vendor practically robbed him. He figures he deserves it, pursuing an amulet without Taekwoon’s recommendation and properly getting scalped, but it is too late to undo what has been done. 

He assures himself that tonight will go to plan. Wonsik and Sanghyuk are not novices; they know what to do and went over the plan several times with Jaehwan. All he has to do is recite a few lines, and this will be over. 

Hope, however, can be dangerous. 

The young men wait a while longer, long enough for Wonsik to count and recount his good luck charms and long enough for Sanghyuk to make fun of him for it. Wonsik glares at his younger partner. “You laugh now, but maybe you’ll finally listen to me when bad luck follows you.” 

Jaehwan perks up at this, now violently shivering. “You don’t believe in luck?” 

Sanghyuk waves a hand, rustling the branches that he scolded Jaehwan for. “No such thing.” 

Wonsik rolls his eyes. “You practically invite bad luck.” 

“And nothing’s happened to me yet, right?” Sanghyuk grins at Jaehwan, like Jaehwan alone understands. “You know who believes in that stuff? My grandmother.” 

“You––”

A low-pitched hum cuts Wonsik’s sharp reply short. Wonsik hands dive to his side to pull out the sensor, a cluster of small straight wires. Sanghyuk’s joking nature disappears as both exorcists look at Wonsik’s fist. Jaehwan fails to understand what it means until Wonsik points the wires straight ahead and the humming begins once more. 

“It’s close,” Wonsik mutters. 

“But how close?” 

Jaehwan peers over the hedge to the deserted lot. He sees no signs of anything. 

Sanghyuk sucks in a breath. “What the hell?” The humming stops and immediately Wonsik swivels the wires to their left side. The humming starts again, but it sounds weaker than before. Wonsik shifts in place, turning so the wires point…directly at the building behind them. The humming is so loud it sounds like a whine. 

And then it stops.

No one speaks. 

Then Wonsik commands, “Move. _Now._ ” 

Several things happen at once. The sensor lets out a high-pitched whine, piercing Jaehwan’s eardrums. He clutches the sides of his head as his eyes search for the cause. His eyes dart upward, toward the building, and then he sees it. Jaehwan’s stomach bottoms out. His blood pounds in his body, cold as a river. 

A twisted face appears above them, materializing through the brick wall, and Jaehwan lets out a noise. The face looks like melted flesh with bones set into it, the opposite of a human. The fleshy face looks animalistic yet human-like at the same time. The eyelid-less eyeballs fix on Jaehwan, and Sanghyuk slams himself into him, catapulting them both away from the demon’s outstretched, jagged fingers. 

Jaehwan stares at the purple sky. The weight of Sanghyuk disappears from his chest, and Jaehwan hears Wonsik bark out incantations quickly followed by Sanghyuk’s name. 

The demon cries, sounding like the caw of a bird…. 

Jaehwan crawls along the ground, trying to regain his breath. He remembers the plan. Stay away from the action until Sanghyuk and Wonsik can subdue the demon. Be ready to do his part. 

Sanghyuk lets out a blood-curdling scream, and Jaehwan’s hair stands on end. 

“Sanghyuk!” 

Jaehwan stands, glimpsing the sight of the demon gripping Sanghyuk around his neck with its jaws open, as if about to bite him. But then, the demon looks over its shoulder at Jaehwan. 

Jaehwan tries to run but his feet are stuck to the ground. Vaguely, he hears Wonsik’s shouting, but it sounds like static in his ears. The sensor nor Sanghyuk have stopped screaming. 

_Predictable. Of course, I can’t do anything._

The demon tosses Sanghyuk to the side, leaving large rents in his skin where his claws pierced him. Then, like a vapor, the demon dematerializes just in time to miss the bullet headed its way. Wonsik’s gun smokes green, one bullet down.

_Did I really think this would work?_

A brief lapse of time separates when Jaehwan first falls and when he becomes aware of being on his knees. His abdomen feels like it has been pierced with a hot knife, sliding up to his ribs. His hands dig at his middle, but nothing has stabbed him. 

The demon re-forms in front of him. 

_No matter what I do, I’ll always be behind._

Through the haze of pain, Jaehwan takes note that…that something in him pulls forward to the demon. He fights it. Jaehwan lurches backward, knees scraping against the ground, but the demon’s claws grab Jaehwan’s coat lapels and drag him forward so the gaping maw seals itself over his mouth. 

And then it sucks. 

The energy flows out of Jaehwan like sand through loose palms. He feels his muscles weakening, too tired to stand. His eyelids droop, sleep coming on too fast to be natural. 

A shot rings out, and the demon releases Jaehwan, screeching at the now gaping hole in its side, green smoke exuding from the wound. Jaehwan falls away, his legs unable to hold him upright. He tumbles fully into the dirt. 

“Sanghyuk, now!”

Jaehwan rolls onto his stomach, watching as both exorcists stagger into the clearing, mouths moving as they recite the incantation. The demon claws at the hole in its side, then falls to its knees. It howls so loud that Jaehwan thinks someone _must_ hear it. 

Jaehwan’s eyes lose focus, scene going blurry. Light scatters across his vision, and the demon howls louder. 

“Jaehwan! _Jaehwan!_ ” 

Jaehwan grits his teeth together and gasps as he drags himself back to his knees. The demon seems to be pinned between the two points of Sanghyuk and Wonsik. Both are standing, but Sanghyuk’s neck is covered in blood as he shakes on the spot, and Wonsik’s rage seeps into his posture, his white-knuckled grip on his gun. Their incantations merge into one, forcing the weakened demon into submission.

The demon twitches and scurries in circles, as if looking for a way out of the visible force Sanghyuk and Wonsik have laid upon it. 

Jaehwan extends an arm, gripping his amulet with his other hand. Now or never. 

_You can’t. You can’t. You can’t; you can’t; you can’t._

Jaehwan pushes past the intrusive thought. He summons all his magic. He envisions it passing the gates, flowing in a measured stream. 

Sanghyuk yells, “Jaehwan, do it!” 

Jaehwan’s chest heaves. He clenches every muscle, picturing the magic passing through every barrier, repeating the same practiced string of words under his breath. 

“ _Jaehwan!_ ” 

“I’m trying!” 

And that’s when Sanghyuk falters. Just for a second, he does. His footing slips, and he manages to catch himself before he falls, but his concentration breaks. The demon knows. In that split-second, the demon dematerializes once more, Wonsik’s one-sided efforts not enough, and it lunges toward Sanghyuk.

Without thinking, Jaehwan lets Chaos magic burst outward through his hand, jagged bursts of electric yellow ripping into the demon, making it screech and twist in pain. Jaehwan cuts himself off from the magic before he loses himself in it, but thankfully it is enough. The demon dematerializes and shoots away from Sanghyuk, away from the scene, and Jaehwan drops his arm.

The clearing is silent. 

Jaehwan sits back on his heels, shaking. He can still feel the demon on his mouth, absorbing… _him_. His essence. Whatever the hell that was. He can still feel the decay and death of the flesh on his skin. After several moments, he realizes that he still grips his amulet. He looks down at it––emptied only slightly. He used Chaos magic. 

Tears well in his eyes. 

Jaehwan looks up to see Wonsik running to Sanghyuk’s side, the younger now flat on his back with his feet sprawled out. The demon seems to be truly gone. The sensor is silent. 

Wonsik’s hands clamp over the wounds on Sanghyuk’s neck. The wind has not let up, but Wonsik shucks off his jacket, pulling a knife from one of his many pockets to cut part of the bottom off. He wraps the fabric around the younger’s neck. “Hold on, Sanghyuk, hold on.” 

Every one of Jaehwan’s muscles screams at him, but he forces himself to move. He gets to his feet, vision swooping in and out, and his stomach lurches. He will _not_ vomit. He will not embarrass himself more than he already has. 

He clambers to Sanghyuk’s side. He looks at Wonsik. “What– what do you want me to do?”

“Hold his neck.” Wonsik’s voice is firm but methodical. A forced sense of calm clings to him. 

Sanghyuk coughs. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “It hurts.” 

“Do you know how to heal?” 

Jaehwan looks up at Wonsik. He averts his eyes. “No. I’m sorry.”

Wonsik does not respond and instead rummages in his belt’s many pouches. It takes him a moment but soon he has a handful of different powders and dusts on which he dumps a vial of golden liquid and rubs his hands together. “Move that, please.”

Jaehwan peels away the makeshift bandage, and Wonsik slathers the mixture on Sanghyuk’s puncture wounds. The wounds are deep, pumping out blood, and fear claws at Jaehwan, overtaking every other emotion he feels. Sanghyuk was hurt because of the demon, the demon that he summoned. He would not have been in this position had Jaehwan had enough sense to not mess around with things he had no idea about. 

As Wonsik rubs the mixture in, Sanghyuk gasps and writhes, whimpering as it takes effect. Jaehwan has to hold Sanghyuk’s arms down for Wonsik to finish. 

Wonsik says, “I need to– I need to get him to the hospital.”

“No, please,” Sanghyuk grunts. His hand finds the edge of Wonsik’s shirt, pulling hard. “No, not the hospital. Please.” 

Wonsik presses his lips together. He looks at Jaehwan, not at Sanghyuk. “They’re too deep; I can’t help him.” 

Jaehwan is doubtful he can walk anywhere, but his mouth says, “I’ll go with you.”

_I’ve messed it up. It’s all my fault._

Wonsik sighs but it sounds relieved. Sanghyuk still protests, voice weak with pain, but doing nothing is off the table. Sanghyuk has to go. “Thank you,” Wonsik says.

Jaehwan nods even though there is nothing to thank him for. 

The long walk to the hospital is made longer with an unwilling and heavy Sanghyuk supported between Wonsik and Jaehwan. Jaehwan’s knees quiver, but he thinks sheer self-hatred keeps him upright. He failed tonight––utterly failed. 

When the trio finally stumbles into the hospital’s lobby, the receptionist takes one look at Sanghyuk and calls for extra help. Sanghyuk is soon laid on a stretcher, and as they roll him away, Wonsik accompanies him, Sanghyuk’s hand clutching his like a vice. Left alone, Jaehwan shrinks into himself, tucking his arms close to his body, aware of the many people in the lobby now staring at him, at the scene that just unfolded. 

Jaehwan finds an empty chair and drops into it, putting his head in his hands. Please, he thinks, let Sanghyuk be okay.

After some time, someone sits in the seat beside Jaehwan. He looks up to see Wonsik, worn-out and grim-faced but slightly more pulled together. 

Jaehwan asks, “How is he?”

“He’ll be fine.” Wonsik clears his throat. “He lost a lot of blood, but the doctor said he should stabilize pretty quickly.” Wonsik eyes narrow and he says, “You’re bleeding.” 

“Huh?”

Wonsik taps the skin on his jaw, and Jaehwan touches his own to feel the cuts. Compared to lingering pain in his chest, the superficial pain of his jaw is unnoticeable. He runs his own finger over the skin. They must be leftover from when the demon grabbed him. 

The demon’s mouth on his…that was like falling into a bottomless hole. Jaehwan is unsure even now that his feet are planted on the floor. 

Jaehwan wants to ask why his talisman failed to work, why the demon was able to touch him so easily, or why nothing went to plan. He wants to know why, when he needed it most, his magic failed him again. 

No, Order magic did. Jaehwan bites his lip. He has been waiting for Wonsik to say something about his use of Chaos. It came so naturally to him, and…and no matter what he thought, he felt guilty. Ashamed. Why was it so hard for him to use Order? A shiver traveled through him; if Wonsik noticed, he could report Jaehwan right here and now. It may be what he deserves for this mess.

Wonsik’s finger brushes Jaehwan’s wrist, and Jaehwan flinches in surprise. 

“It’s…not your fault. I’m not mad at you.”

Jaehwan blinks at the exorcist. “I–”

Wonsik faces the front, finally jerking his coat back on. “You just look upset. Don’t be. I’m not holding anything against you for what happened.” Wonsik ruffles his silver hair, making it go in all different directions. “I guess…it’s just too strong.” 

Jaehwan stares at his dirt-stained palms. 

“Sanghyuk and I might have to try again. Just ourselves, though. It’s especially aggressive, and I just don’t know.” Wonsik shoots a look to Jaehwan. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” 

Jaehwan nods again. 

“You might want to get looked at too––”

“It’s fine.” This stands in for Jaehwan saying, “I don’t have enough money,” and for a moment, he regrets not taking Taekwoon’s pouch of coins. His throat closes, and Jaehwan swipes a hand over his face so he can collect himself. “Uh, look. I think I need to go.” 

“Wait.” Wonsik’s tone makes Jaehwan tense, thinking Wonsik will bring up the magic, but instead the exorcists says, “I don’t think you should walk alone––”

Jaehwan shakes his head, too upset by the night to be happy that Wonsik either did not notice the form of his magic or just willing to let it slide. Jaehwan doubts the latter is true. “It’ll be fine,” he assures Wonsik. “I just– I need to go. Home. I need to go home, I think.” 

Wonsik looks reluctant to let him leave, but something so turbulent, so chaotic, has been knocked loose in Jaehwan’s chest. His own mistakes claw at his legs, dragging him down with every step. He plunges back into the night air, leaving the hospital behind, wrapping his arms tight around himself. 

He swallows and swallows and swallows the bitter feeling in his throat, but nothing can erase what happened. 

 

//

 

Taekwoon has never ridden in a closed carriage. He runs his hands over the plush bench and peeks out the curtained window for the thousandth time to watch the city streets pass by. As the sun sets, the day vendors finish packing their carts while the ones aimed toward the night crowds settle in. The scent of food fills the cabin as they pass many food stands, and Taekwoon glimpses a man selling risqué hand-drawn pictures for cheap. Taekwoon averts his eyes, drawing the curtain back. 

Across from him sits his mother, Song Jieun. Taekwoon can not sit still, fidgeting every few seconds, and he tries to think of something to say but words escape him. Silence fills the void between them. Taekwoon again runs hand over the bench. The window curtains move slightly, and Taekwoon catches the streetlights flickering on. 

Song Jieun invited Taekwoon to take her carriage as they left the tea house. Taekwoon suggested that they go elsewhere to talk, but she confessed that her home was not appropriate at the moment, so Taekwoon offered his home. 

They ride a bit longer, but then, in her soft voice, she breaks the silence. She asks, “So you live here?” She has one of the window curtains pushed aside, observing the scene as they turn into his neighborhood. 

Taekwoon clears his throat. “Yes, I do.” He winces at the formality of his words, but casualness would mean that he is comfortable with her, and he is not. Not yet, anyway. 

“Alone?”

“No. With…my friend. His name is Jaehwan.” Who should be at work tonight. Perhaps. Taekwoon thinks back, but Jaehwan’s schedule remains murky in his mind. Taekwoon hopes, for his own sake, that he is. 

Song Jieun lets go of the curtain. “What does he do?” She smoothes out a crease in her skirt but soon returns her attention to Taekwoon. “Does he practice magic as well?”

“Ah, no. He’s an actor. He does musicals and things like that.” 

Miss Song raises her eyebrows, seeming surprised. “Oh, lovely.”

“Yes.” Silence lapses once more, but Taekwoon feels as if something has shifted, something that he must correct. He adds, “He’s very nice. I’ve known him ever since–– Well, we met at the orphanage.” 

His mother’s face immediately softens. “Of course. I’m sorry to hear he also….” She trails off. “Well, I’m glad to hear you have each other.” 

Taekwoon nods, but he still feels as if he did not give her the right answer. 

The carriage lurches to a stop on the far side of the road, and they exit the carriage. Taekwoon stares at his front door as they approach the house, suddenly overwhelmed with second-hand embarrassment at its shoddy appearance. With the extra coin he makes, he now can afford for someone to come in and fix the steps or the many other things that need done, but Taekwoon has not yet found the time to schedule such repairs. 

Thankfully, his mother does not comment except for uttering a small gasp when Taekwoon uses his shoulder to physically dislodge the front door. 

“Can you not fix that?”

Taekwoon gestures for his mother to follow him inside. He begins to flick on the lights as he answers, “My master has a strong policy against using magic for certain tasks.” 

His mother removes her cream hat once more, moving toward the kitchen table. She takes her spot at the one free seat, sweeping a hand across the table’s surface before sitting. Taekwoon hurries over and gathers some extra books and papers that have never found their homes and transports them to the couch. He will deal with them later. 

“So,” she begins, “why then can you fix things for others?” 

Taekwoon keeps his back turned to her as he says, “He’s more particular about his personal things than those of others.” Which is true. Heo values a hands-off policy when it comes to his colleagues, not imposing upon what they should and should not do, but he also spent ten or so years telling Taekwoon not to waste his magic on others.

Not even licensed wizards are so generous that they let just anyone employ them for a bit of magic. If so, their price would be high, and that is why only the government can afford their services, enlisting them to help build public works or offer military assistance, and more. No, not just anyone becomes licensed, and while Heo may disagree with a majority of wizards, he does believe that the power of magic does not come lightly.

Taekwoon recalls Heo telling him and Jaehwan, “Don’t cheapen yourself for others. All people ever do in life is walk over you. Never give them your gifts for no small amount.” And now Taekwoon does parlor tricks for the rich.

Taekwoon winces at the thought of Heo finding out what he has been up to. Jaehwan _is_ right about that. No matter what Taekwoon argues––that the money is worth it, that Jaehwan needs it, or some other truth––Heo may not be able to see it in the same way. 

Taekwoon turns around, and his mother pats the chair beside her for him to take the seat. He sits. Reaching slowly, she lifts one of Taekwoon’s hands from his lap, enclosing his hand with both of hers. She murmurs, a smile curling her mouth, “I never thought I would be able to do this.”

He feels the same. Is this even real? Questions race to the forefront of his mind, not knowing what to ask her first. He glances at the quality of her dress, the detail in the stitches of her gloves. He starts with, “You mentioned a– a business of some sort. What do you do?”

“Me?” She pats the back of his hand, a small chuckle falling through her lips. She examines his face for a moment and then shares, “Have you heard of the Tradewind Sailing Company?”

He nods.

“I am the owner.” Her smile broadens at Taekwoon’s surprised look. She rubs his hand with her own. “So you know of it?” 

Of course. How could he not? Most of the city’s ships were owned by them. Taekwoon sits back in his seat as his mother lets him go. The huge ships sit in the harbor, ranging from trade ships to luxury sailers, all towering over the modest fishing boats. To think that he has seen the emblazoned Tradewind logo his whole life….

His mother laughs. “The company was handed to me from my father––your grandfather. It has been a difficult enterprise but very rewarding, I suppose.” She changes the subject. “So what was your schooling like? I understand that you are an apprentice?”

Taekwoon nods, hesitating before saying, “I never had a formal education, but my current master was gracious enough to accept me otherwise.” 

“So you are not licensed?”

“No, I’m not.” 

“Why did you not go to school?” 

“There wasn’t enough money.” Taekwoon shrugs, side-stepping the details of his first and last encounter with school. “I worked instead.” 

His mother stares at him for a moment before breaking out her smile again. “Of course. I can understand that.” She reaches over and pats his knee. “Well, don’t worry. You are a talented wizard. I have seen what the women are toting around.” 

“Oh, that.” Taekwoon shifts in his seat, cheeks coloring at the praise. He feels silly for reacting in such a way…. He opens his mouth to ask a question, maybe about his grandfather, maybe about the company, maybe about all the things he has missed in the chasm of time that separate the son from his mother, anything to steer the conversation in a different direction––but then the front door groans open. 

Taekwoon twists in his seat, taking two glances before comprehending that it is Jaehwan stumbling over the threshold. He trips over his feet, head ducked, and Taekwoon, with a sinking heart, concludes he must be drunk. Of all the bad timing. Taekwoon had no wish to introduce Jaehwan to Song Jieun yet, but worse, how can he introduce a _drunken_ Jaehwan to her? Taekwoon rises from the table. “Jaehwan, I––”

But then Jaehwan lifts his head, and their eyes meet, and as cold fear flares within him, Taekwoon realizes Jaehwan is not drunk. Something is wrong. 

Taekwoon pushes his chair back with a clatter, and he takes four long strides across the floor to intercept his friend, already on the way to the stairs. Taekwoon blocks his path. He places his hands on Jaehwan’s shoulders, gently as to not scare him, and has to bend slightly to look into his face. 

The pallid coloring of Jaehwan’s face sets off alarm in Taekwoon’s head, along with his unfocused eyes. Taekwoon mistook him for being drunk because of his odd gait, but as Jaehwan stands here, seeming small in the span of Taekwoon’s hands, Taekwoon thinks it has to be something else entirely. 

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong with your eyes?”

Jaehwan only shrugs, trying to slide out of his grip. “Just a long day,” he says, but the grumbled words run together. Taekwoon takes in the cuts on Jaehwan’s jaw, and from his angle, he glimpses the bruises under the shifting collar of Jaehwan’s shirt. Splotchy ones, recent ones.

“Is everything okay?”

Jaehwan jerks at Song Jieun’s voice, turning his head slowly toward the table as he just noticed her. He stiffens in Taekwoon’s hands. “Hello,” he greets, his flat tone uncharacteristic of him. He looks back at Taekwoon, eyes now alight with questions. 

“Jaehwan, this is Miss Song.” Taekwoon licks his lips. He wishes he could do this elsewhere without his mother listening in; he wishes he did not have to do this at all. “She reached out to me the other day, and…we’ve been talking, and we think that––” he sucks in a breath, “––that she’s my mother.”

Jaehwan’s eyes dart to Taekwoon, his eyebrows furrowed together and jaw clenched. Taekwoon reads the meaning of his expression; Jaehwan does not have to say a word.

Jaehwan wrenches himself out of Taekwoon’s hands and bypasses him to ascend the stairs. Taekwoon starts to dart after him, but then stops short. “Uh, I’ll be back.” He barely hears his words, and he leaves before Song Jieun can respond, running after Jaehwan.

Close behind, Taekwoon follows Jaehwan into his room when he flings the door open, and Taekwoon shuts it behind him. Jaehwan comes to a stop in the middle of his room, standing between the end of his bed and his dresser. His hands shake at his sides, and Taekwoon watches as Jaehwan curls them into fists. Jaehwan’s voice wavers as he asks, “Why is she here?” 

Now enclosed in the same space with Jaehwan, Taekwoon finds his words. “Can we talk about you first?” He can hear the grit in his own voice, and he lets out a deep breath to physically relax. He folds his arms. “What happened to you?”

Jaehwan waves a hand, exasperated that at Taekwoon’s change in subject. “I’m fine, but––”

“You don’t look fine.”

He scoffs. “It’s nothing.” 

“ _Jaehwan._ ” 

Jaehwan rubs his hands over his face, drawing Taekwoon’s attention to just how dirty he is, as if he laid on the ground and took a dirt-bath. When he says nothing, Taekwoon says, “I _thought_ you were at work tonight.”

“What?” Jaehwan pauses. “No. Not tonight––”

“So what happened?” Memories flash through Taekwoon’s head of the times finding Jaehwan in the backs of bars, finding him with older men. Taekwoon kept those secrets for him, promising to keep Jaehwan’s nightly excursions between him and Jaehwan, no need to involve Heo. Taekwoon, at the time, had no idea Jaehwan was coping with something. Now, Taekwoon quickly evaluates Jaehwan’s recent oddities––the lies, the unusual hours. Taekwoon’s fingertips dig into his own forearms.

Jaehwan swears under his breath. “Nothing happened, okay?”

“Nothing?” Taekwoon empty laugh echoes against the walls. “Am I supposed to believe that?” Taekwoon holds in a breath, then lets it out. “I’m not stupid. You don’t look like that from nothing.”

“Look, I’m tired.” Jaehwan waves a languid hand, as if to shoo Taekwoon out. He then shoves his other dirty hand through his hair and–– Taekwoon catches the red on his fingers. 

“Is that blood?” 

Jaehwan’s hand freezes, and he pulls it back to his side. “It was just an accident. It’s from my– my chin.” Jaehwan holds Taekwoon’s gaze and sighs. “Alright, you want to know the big secret? I fell.” 

Frustration wells within Taekwoon. He firms his lips together and pleads in a small voice, “Jaehwan, you don’t have to lie.” His heart clenches in his chest. “You can talk to me––”

But this only further agitates the other. Jaehwan puffs up his chest and points at the door. “Okay, we can talk. Who is that downstairs?”

“I told you––”

“I can’t even wrap my head around that, you know? Can you?” Jaehwan’s eyes appear glassy in his lamp’s artificial light, but when Taekwoon focuses on them, he knows he just imagined the tears. “I mean,” Jaehwan goes on, “when were you going to tell me? How did you even find out?”

Taekwoon says, “She sent me a letter. Her name is Song Jieun, and she’s the owner of the Tradewind company. She had a son that she had to give up, and she saw me once, and she thought that I might be him. So I met with her. Jaehwan, she knew… She brought documentation; she had _everything_.” 

Jaehwan’s stony expression sits unfamiliar on his usually kind face. Taekwoon is unused to seeing him so stoic. His friend presses his lips together and asks, “Does that necessarily mean she’s your mother?” 

A cold wall rises in Taekwoon, turning his own tone steely. “I looked at everything she had. Everything was from the hospital itself. It was all height and weight records, my health, everything. Even a note for the orphanage.”

Jaehwan stares at him for so long that Taekwoon fears time has stopped, freezing them forever in this position. Then Jaehwan’s eyes soften, back to the version Taekwoon knows so well, shoulders sagging. “Taekwoon…” his voice has softened as well, and Taekwoon flinches because he knows what Jaehwan will say. “You and I both know that if she’s really the head of Tradewind, she could have anyone––I mean _anyone_ ––forge documents––”

“No.” Taekwoon’s voice strengthens with fervency. “How would someone other than her know which hospital I was from? The orphanage caretakers didn’t even know.”

“Are you sure?”

Taekwoon digs his fingernails into his arms and bites out, “Yes.”

Jaehwan still does not look convinced. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jaehwan visibly deflates, looking like he might fall over. He sits down on the edge of his bed. “I guess you should talk to her then.” 

“I suppose so.” Taekwoon stares at Jaehwan a few seconds longer, waiting for him to change his mind and explain this all to him, but Jaehwan does not. 

So Taekwoon turns on his heel and opens the door, but still Jaehwan does not stop him. About to step out, Taekwoon pauses. He remembers the last time Jaehwan kept things from him, resulting in him leaving. Taekwoon bites his lip and swallows his hurt and turns to peer back into the younger’s room. Jaehwan still watches him from the bed. 

Taekwoon tells him, “I’m sorry for pressing. But I… If you change your mind, you can talk to me.” 

Jaehwan fixes him with the same tired stare. Taekwoon does his best to not look at the blood speckled on his chin, to change his mind and refuse to leave until he figures out what is _wrong_ , but Taekwoon remembers what Hongbin said about space. Jaehwan obviously wants it. 

Taekwoon shuts the door behind him, and he stands in the dark hallway for a moment to compose himself. After all, his mother awaits him downstairs. He curses under his breath, wishing he could reset the night. He wishes he had been the only one home when Jaehwan arrived. Would Jaehwan be more willing to talk if he had been? Most likely not. Still, Taekwoon now has to return downstairs and tell Song Jieun…something.

Taekwoon stands tall, shakes out his hands, and exhales. When he comes down, however, he does not find her at the table but standing at the front door. She has donned her hat and gathered her purse. She smiles at him and quirks an eyebrow. “Was that your friend?” 

“Yes.”

“Is he alright?”

_No. No he’s not. _“I don’t know.”__

__His mother makes a soft cooing sound, and she touches her hat’s brim, flicking dust from the edge. “Well, I’ll let you both have your privacy.”_ _

__And while he had wished for that upstairs, now that he faces her a vice grip has strangled his heart. He looks at the door and then back at her, his heartbeat rising in his chest. He just got her back. She should stay. Taekwoon croaks out, “You’re leaving?”_ _

__“Yes, dear. Unfortunately, I have an early morning tomorrow.” Taekwoon tries to hide his disappointment, his thinly veiled panic, but it must be apparent because she adds, “Why don’t we set up another time to talk? Maybe you can visit me next time?”_ _

__Taekwoon gives her a firm nod._ _

__She comes to stand in front of him, the hem of her pretty dress whispering over the floorboards. Taekwoon remembers Jaehwan’s comment about the wealth and power she must have as head of such a successful company. He tries to shove the thought out, almost missing his mother’s quiet question of, “May I hug you?”_ _

__Taekwoon ducks his eyes, embarrassed that she has to ask, but more embarrassed that his first instinct is to curl away despite how much he wants her to stay. It is like two people inhabit his body, both wanting the opposite of the other. Taekwoon pushes down that instinct that has haunted him from childhood and nods again. His words seem to have failed him again._ _

__And then her arms wrap around him, one of her hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck. Taekwoon breathes in the scent of rose perfume._ _

__Jaehwan’s skepticism echoes in his brain, and something pulls at the warm feeling inside him. Something cold. Taekwoon shuts his eyes, as if that will shut out his conversation with Jaehwan._ _

__After she leaves, Taekwoon is left with the memory of roses and the ability to say that his mother––a mother of his own––smells like them._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thanks for reading guys it's been a long time since i've written a longfic and it's a lot harder than i remember LOL  
> \- thanks again  
> \- (vixx on weekly idol was superb thanks)


	6. Chapter 6

_“You can talk to me.”_

Jaehwan watches Taekwoon shut his bedroom door, staying still until he hears the older’s footsteps creak on the staircase, going to see the stranger at their table. Jaehwan lets himself tip backward, his muscles no longer able to keep him upright, and he hits his comforter hard. He stifles a groan, biting the inside of his cheek. 

For Jaehwan, it is all too easy to redirect his anger at that woman. He balls his hands into his blankets, staring at his ceiling. He finds it impossible for her to really be Taekwoon’s mother.

Taekwoon––someone who keeps his thoughts and feelings woven tight, keeping them close––unravels at the mention of his parents. The older has never divulged that their absence hurts him, but Jaehwan knows better. Jaehwan has very few memories of the orphanage, but he remembers the caretakers scolding Taekwoon for being awake past curfew, crying. By six-years-old, Taekwoon knew no one would be coming for him.

From then on, Taekwoon relied heavily on himself, sharing with others little else. It took Jaehwan years to figure out how to read him, permanently convinced Taekwoon barely tolerated him despite all the evidence disproving the idea. He took care of things, often before Jaehwan ever knew there was a problem. Running away from the orphanage, leaving school, finding Heo––all that was thanks to Taekwoon. 

Taekwoon keeps his thoughts and feelings woven tight––true––but Jaehwan, after years of friendship, has found that while Taekwoon allows very little room for anyone else, Taekwoon has made room enough for Jaehwan. 

So it infuriates Jaehwan that this lady has even come forward. It infuriates him that Taekwoon is even entertaining the idea no matter what she claims. Taekwoon’s usual logic, usually so meticulous and infuriating in its own way, seems to have fled, leaving Jaehwan as the one nay-sayer, a position not often his. 

Taekwoon should not have to shed tears––not because of anyone. 

The last time Jaehwan saw Taekwoon cry was before the older’s seventeenth birthday. Jaehwan had teased that he would not buy Taekwoon anything, but a hand-made card sat at the top of his closet and a book of short stories hid in his sock drawer. The other boys at school were insufferable, ruining anything they could put their hands on, so Jaehwan kept the presents at home, waiting for the day. 

Two days away from Taekwoon’s birthday, Jaehwan woke in the middle of the night. His eyes opened to the darkness of his room, no dream or any discernible noise rousing him from sleep. He laid there and listened to the silence a few seconds before sitting up. His clock, illuminated by the moonlight coming through his window, told him it was well after three in the morning. 

And then he heard a faint noise.

Jaehwan tip-toed out of bed and pressed his ear to his door. Someone sniffed heavily in the hall, bathroom door opening then closing. Jaehwan peered into the hall in time to see Taekwoon slip back through his door, the soft yellow glow of lamplight from underneath it peeked. He knew something was wrong.

Jaehwan knocked on Taekwoon’s door, and when he got no answer, he firmed his resolve, pushing it open slightly. Still no answer. Determined, he poked his head through the doorway, calling softly, “Taekwoon?” and then stopped short.

At Jaehwan’s intrusion, Taekwoon rose from his bed, scrubbing his hand over his red eyes. He coughed. “Why are you awake?” 

Jaehwan heard the jagged pieces of Taekwoon’s voice trying to frame themselves together, but Jaehwan saw through it. Taekwoon’s face was splotchy, eyes puffy. The wrists of his nightshirt were damp from wiping away tears. 

Immediately, Jaehwan flushed and averted his eyes to Taekwoon’s floor. Tears were a weird thing to confront. He had seen them track down his own face plenty of times, but seeing them on Taekwoon caused him to react differently. 

But now that his eyes were on the floor, Jaehwan noted the bits of paper were strewn around Taekwoon’s ever-constant piles of books. When his eyes landed back on the bed, Jaehwan saw that Taekwoon’s box had been pulled out, its contents dumped onto his blanket. 

“What do you want?” 

Jaehwan could not come up with a good enough lie, so he asked, “Are you okay?” 

Taekwoon looked at Jaehwan for a long moment, clenching and unclenching his hands, and to Jaehwan’s horror, more tears welled in the older’s eyes. Taekwoon turned his face to the floor. “I’m fine,” he choked out, but Jaehwan was already inside his door, shutting it behind him. The last thing they needed was Heo waking up and barging in on them. 

“Taekwoon? Hey, Taekwoon….”

The older boy, clearly embarrassed, pressed his palms to his eyes, shrinking further away from Jaehwan. 

Jaehwan told him, “Y’know, sometimes it’s better to let it out.” 

Taekwoon’s wide shoulders shook, and Jaehwan did his best not to stare and instead focused on the open box. Jaehwan rarely saw it; Taekwoon hated bringing attention to his keepsakes from the orphanage.

Jaehwan asked, “What’s wrong?”

Taekwoon flung his hands out, gesturing at nothing––everything. “I– I don’t know.” 

“You can tell me.” 

“I just….” He shrugged his shoulders, shifted between his feet, and latched a hand on the opposite elbow. “It’s nothing.”

Jaehwan stepped closer. Taekwoon watched him with wary eyes, watching as the distance between them shrank. He bit his lower lip, doing his best to keep everything back, but he did not ask Jaehwan to leave. The younger took that as a good sign. 

“Taekwoon,” he said, “I’m here for you.” 

“I don’t know why it bothers me so much.” The words tumbled from Taekwoon’s mouth, and he looked as if he wanted them back, but Jaehwan already heard them.

“What bothers you?”

Taekwoon clenched his fists, lowering his gaze. “My parents. They didn’t want me.”

Jaehwan, standing halfway between the bed and the door, wanted to give him a hug. A hug could encompass all the things Jaehwan could say, all the things he did not know how to articulate. He was not sure how to help. 

Jaehwan also had been abandoned, and it still hurt, but Jaehwan knew that little could comfort that feeling. It was a feeling that persisted, leaving him hollow at times and making him forget all the good in his life. Telling Miss Yeonju about the feeling was the only thing that helped.

Jaehwan could do the same for his friend; he could listen. 

Taekwoon walked to his bed, dropping himself down with a huff. His hands rested limp in his lap, his gaze unfocused somewhere on the floor, still avoiding Jaehwan’s eyes. He sniffed and murmured, “I feel pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic.”

“I don’t want anything from them.” 

Jaehwan moved closer, standing beside the bed, and when Taekwoon said nothing, Jaehwan took a seat by the box. Between them were the strewn contents, and there, in the middle of the mess, was the Taekwoon’s necklace. The necklace was simple, just a leather cord with a tiny charm looped onto it shaped like a bird in mid-flight, but Jaehwan never saw the older without it. He picked it from the pile. 

“I don’t want it,” came Taekwoon’s disdainful sentiment. 

Jaehwan turned the necklace over in his hands. The necklace came with the box, coming to the orphanage with Taekwoon. Jaehwan understood that the box was from Taekwoon’s parents, holding a few things they left with him, and while everything else stayed shut away, the necklace was the only object that Taekwoon kept out. It connected him to his parents. 

To Jaehwan, however, the necklace had no such attachments; it was solely _Taekwoon_ to him. It always rested inside Taekwoon’s shirt, constant as the older boy himself. Jaehwan looked up at Taekwoon and licked his lips. He asked, “What are you going to do with it?”

He shrugged. “Toss it probably. I don’t care anymore.”

“Can I have it?”

Taekwoon finally looked at Jaehwan, confusion muddling his frustrated expression. He blinked once and then twice, wet eyelashes clinging together. “Why do you want it?”

“It’s cool. I– I just have always really liked it.”

Taekwoon gave him a long look before saying slowly, “I mean, I guess so. You like birds?” He scoffed, almost sounding like himself again. He swipes his hand over his eyes once more. “Yeah. I don’t care.”

Jaehwan studied Taekwoon’s profile, feeling useless. He did not know what to say, and Taekwoon still looked to be on the verge of tears. But then he had an idea. Jaehwan jumped up from the bed and raced––as fast he could on tiptoes––back to his room.

He pulled the card and present from their places and hid both behind his back, so when he reappeared in Taekwoon’s room, the other boy furrowed his brow, confused at what Jaehwan could possibly have with him.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just trust me.”

Taekwoon closed his eyes and held out his hands. 

Jaehwan placed the present in the older’s hands, a flurry of butterflies tickling the walls of his stomach, and said, “Alright, open.”

Taekwoon stared at his hands for several long moments. He turned a look of genuine confusion to Jaehwan. “What’s this for?” He blinked several times, holding up the card first. 

Jaehwan felt heat creep into his cheeks, and he swore to himself, second-guessing the card. He wished he had just given Taekwoon the book. “Well, remember how I was telling Heo to celebrate your birthday a different day, so I’d be around for it? Well, I just figured I’d give these to you now. I’m missing your real birthday anyway. I hope you don’t mind.”

Taekwoon was still reading the card. 

Jaehwan fidgeted. He wanted to yank it out of Taekwoon’s hands to make him focus on the book. Why had given him the _card_? Jaehwan was sure that Taekwoon would never laugh at him, but what if he thought that he was weird? 

“Oh, wow.”

Jaehwan fixed his eyes the back of his hand, at his cut that had not yet healed. Hongbin tried to heal it with a little magic he had learned, but nothing had really happened. He stared at the dry edges of the scab, at its pink outline, awaiting Taekwoon’s inevitable reaction.

“This, uh, really nice of you.” Jaehwan snapped his head up, so hard that something cracked. The other boy held the card up, no trace of anything mocking in his face. He might even be…touched. Taekwoon’s small smile reaches up to his eyes, quietly happy. 

Jaehwan, a wave of relief crashing over him, nearly kicks his legs out and thrusts his arms into the air.

“And this is amazing, too.” Taekwoon had already buried himself in the book, looking through the list of short stories and flipping forward to specific ones. “This is really great. I…I had wanted this.”

“Well, duh, that’s why I got it.” 

Taekwoon pretended like he was going to throw the book at Jaehwan, making both boys dissolve into laughter. A loud thump echoed in the direction of Heo’s room, and they immediately clamped up, waiting to see if the man would stumble out to yell at them for being too loud. They waited for a near minute, staring at the door, then looking at each other. 

“False alarm,” Jaehwan whispered.

Taekwoon nodded. His eyes were dry at this point but still swollen. He placed a hand over his mouth to suppress a yawn. Jaehwan did not want to make him sad again, but he felt as if there was more to say. He licked his lips and whispered, “Did this all hit you at once? Or have you been thinking about it for awhile?”

Taekwoon glanced up at him and then back down at his lap. “For a bit. I think. And then I pulled out the box and everything kinda just….” 

“It’s normal, you know, to be sad.”

Taekwoon said nothing, more focused on running his hands over the book’s cover. But it was okay; Jaehwan was satisfied even if he could only let Taekwoon know that he was here for him. Taekwoon let out another yawn, reminding Jaehwan that it was late, much too late. They both needed to go to bed.

Still whispering, Jaehwan asked, “Have you gotten any sleep?” 

“No.” 

“You should probably sleep.”

“I know.” Taekwoon bit his lower lip, once again avoiding eye contact. In the smallest voice he could manage, he confessed, “I- I was having bad dreams earlier, though. I don’t think I can.”

Jaehwan made a split-second decision. He flopped agains the bed, pillowing his arms under his head, and announced, “I’ll stay with you. I can keep you company at least.” 

The twin-bed was much too small for both of them, and Taekwoon looked at the bed then looked at Jaehwan then back to his bed. It had been so long since they had shared such close quarters. Not only were they too old for it, but there was way too much of them now. Jaehwan always had been aware of Taekwoon’s growth spurts, but the truth was that he was getting taller too. 

Jaehwan supplied, “I’ll lay here at the end.”

Slightly indignant, Taekwoon retorted, “So your feet are in my face?” 

“I’m wearing socks!” 

Taekwoon shushed him. “F- Fine. But only because I’ll be reading anyway.”

Jaehwan was not sure what Taekwoon reading had to do with anything, but the other boy threw a pillow at his head, and Jaehwan dove under the covers. 

Jaehwan remembers falling asleep almost instantly that early morning, happy he could do something for his friend. And that morning, when the sun blazed through the blinds, he remembers waking up to find Taekwoon fast asleep, the book Jaehwan gave him across his stomach. 

Jaehwan imprinted the memory upon his mind, thinking of it whenever his intrusive thoughts became too loud, calling himself useless and doubting everything about himself. Because, in that instant, he had undeniably helped Taekwoon. 

Jaehwan stares at his ceiling now, full of frustration and hurt, thinking of Taekwoon downstairs and playing host to that lady. Jaehwan’s concern is that Taekwoon may be jumping head-first into something he may regret. He seemed so sure, but Jaehwan has a hard time believing that woman is his mother. 

For one: the convenient timing. Just as Taekwoon begins to flit around the upper-class, suddenly she comes forward. The walls Taekwoon builds around himself are only to protect the softness he has. Jaehwan thinks this woman may have already snuck around those walls, or worse that Taekwoon has let her in himself, but no matter how she got in Jaehwan feels unbalanced at the thought of sharing the space with an imposter. 

Jaehwan distrusts her prim and proper exterior. Everything about her spoke of old money––money passed through generations and hands. Jaehwan could not reconcile her wealth with the fact that she had given up her own son, placing him in an orphanage, what could be arguably the worst place to leave your child. Jaehwan knows his own experience has influenced him, but he always thought of orphanages as a choice when there were no other choices. Unlike Taekwoon, Jaehwan had come to the orphanage with documentation, and with Miss Yeonju’s help, he followed that paper trail. At the end of it, he learned his mother had died during childbirth with no next of kin available to take him. 

Jaehwan shakes his head. The wealthy can open doors that neither he nor Taekwoon can; despite what Taekwoon said, Jaehwan believes it would be all too easy for her to make up the story. Taekwoon’s avoidance of wizards and their circles may have worked to shelter him from their politics and their ways, but Jaehwan knows their ploys. At his many different jobs, Jaehwan has met all sorts, often working in close contact with people like that lady. They may dress nice and talk in honeyed tones, but to believe them would be to get too close to the bee’s hive, getting stung in the process. 

Jaehwan shoves his hands through his hair. His worry for Taekwoon increases the longer he lays here. “Fuck,” he whispers, covering his face with his arms. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

He hears the front door open and close, echoing through the house, and Jaehwan wonders if that means the woman left. Jaehwan sits up. 

As hard as it is, he has to trust Taekwoon. Without proof, there is no way to know that he is right––no matter what his gut says. And maybe he is being too defensive, letting his terrible mood make him jump to conclusions. Regret swells his chest. The look Taekwoon wore just before he left bothers Jaehwan.

When he stands up to finally undress, the blood rapidly drains from his head, causing a dark curtain to cloud his vision. Jaehwan blindly reaches behind him to grab ahold of his bed and lowers himself to the floor. He puts his head between his knees. He breathes in and out, in and out. He would like to stop falling over; he has done enough of it tonight. 

Finally, the feeling passes. This time when he stands, he does it slowly––painfully so. He clambers up, using his bed as a ladder of sorts, and once back where he started, Jaehwan lets go of a heavy breath. 

_You’re fine. It’s fine._

Jaehwan stands before his mirror, head throbbing. His sore muscles scream for his attention. But perhaps the most worrying is the fact that his stomach, the spot that reacted during the demon’s attack, still hurts. Jaehwan places a hand over the area but feels nothing; the pain comes from within. Jaehwan, perhaps foolishly, hopes it was a horrible coincidence. 

He leans in closer. The bruises near his collarbone and the cuts on his jaw really are not that worrisome, and Jaehwan considers himself lucky that those are all his injuries. He thinks of Sanghyuk in the hospital, the wounds on his neck. Guilt rises in him again. 

Jaehwan leaves his trousers on but strips off everything else. Even the talisman wrapped around his wrist. Might as well not even wear it if the demon could surpass it. He glares at his half-naked reflection in the mirror, zeroing in on the amulet. It still hangs around his neck, softly glowing with unused magic.

Jaehwan focuses on his magic, shuts his eyes to picture his magic passing through levees, a pent-up stream slowly freed. Widening and widening. He calls his magic; he pushes it; he begs it to rise to the surface and do something. 

He opens an eye. Nothing. 

Jaehwan rips the amulet off his neck and flings it in the direction of his bed, landing too softly to relieve his frustration. 

He snatches a towel and skulks into the bathroom. He would rather just sleep off his mood––underneath his anger, sleep tugs at him, begging his attention––but he knows that he needs to get clean. Sanghyuk’s blood is still crusted under his nails. He locks himself in the bathroom and squeezes into the tiny shower. 

He cannot discern if his sleepiness is due to the night’s events or specifically because of the demon’s effect when it attacked him again. What did it take from him? Jaehwan has no answer for that, and he has no way to find out unless he feels like traipsing through the streets again. (He does not.)

Once finished, Jaehwan returns to his room. He dresses himself in a loose shirt and cotton pants and climbs under his covers with his hair still wet. Despite his sore eyes, his mind roves over every detail of the earlier encounter with the demon. From the way the sensor alerted them too late to the way the demon looked. When the demon attacked Jaehwan the first time, it was only there for a moment but it definitely did not appear…solid. Not like this time. Jaehwan speculates about demon’s form, wondering if it can change back and forth at will or if the transformation is indicative of its strength. The hands that pushed into Jaehwan’s shoulders possessed strength greater than it had the first encounter. 

Most disappointing, though, was Jaehwan’s magic. 

Jaehwan rolls onto his side. He really thought the amulet would have been able to work; which it did, but not in the way he wanted. Was Wonsik dismissing Jaehwan because he cannot wield his magic properly? Is Wonsik giving him an excuse to back out? Wonsik did mention that it was harder to send a demon that had grown accustomed this realm, but if he noticed Jaehwan’s use of Chaos magic perhaps the exorcist was doing him a favor. 

Jaehwan switches to his other side. With demon growing stronger, the exorcists will be forced to report him, and the Bureau will launch a full investigation into his case. They will find Jaehwan guilty of illegal use of magic, and he will be thrown in jail, an ugly mark on his record. He may even be fired. Taekwoon would most likely bail him out, though, with all the money he makes now. 

Distressed by the thought, Jaehwan sits up in bed. For a period in his life, just after he finished school and feeling directionless, Jaehwan made midnight excursions through the city. Pressure squeezed his chest on all sides, and to breathe, he felt the only option was to get away. 

Sometimes he went to the park, loitering under the bridge. In alleyways. In the attics of decrepit buildings deep in South End. Wherever he went he sought Chaos magic. Jaehwan met a guy in a bar, older and handsome, and he was the one who first invited him to come along. The prospect of illegal magic scared Jaehwan, but Jaehwan, tired of feeling useless, tired of living in Taekwoon’s shadow, put aside his inhibitions and agreed to come.

Jaehwan looks at his bedroom door, and then at his hands, furrowing his brow slightly. He pictures an ocean, waves and waves of water crashing against a shoreline, leaking past their borders. He opens his eyes. Wild magic swirls in his hands, undulating and jagged, much different from Order’s stable glow, looking like the electric streaks that had pierced the demon earlier. 

Jaehwan almost laughs from the irony. He is only able to use Chaos magic, the magic outlawed for being unnatural, too dangerous. He lifts his hands and the magic leaps from his fingers, barely restrained, and a strange joy encapsulates him. Magic––magic from _his_ fingers. A flood of memories crashes through his head. Shapes of seedy men, passing around a bottle of alcohol, little bits of magic exploding from their fingers. Jaehwan, sitting in someone’s lap, watching the way the magic behaved––so much different from Taekwoon’s and even the faint glow he could summon from his fingers. The first time he tried Chaos magic, the magic reacted differently in his hands in that it actually worked. 

Aside from summoning the demon and tonight, Jaehwan has not used Chaos magic for a several years. To use it is to skirt danger, but the prospect of getting caught fell away whenever the magic would spring to his fingers. Finally, Jaehwan had a skill. Finally, he would be an equal. 

But then Taekwoon found out.

Guilt and shame immediately fills Jaehwan. He clenches his fists, and the magic dies. He made a promise to send the demon, but was it worth to go to jail? Friends of Hongbin or not, the exorcists could only bend so many laws for him. He had already lied by not admitting that he used Chaos to summon the demon; he could back out now and let the exorcists deal with the demon as Wonsik mentioned.

But if the exorcists could not send the demon themselves, then the Bureau would get involved. Not only would that seal Jaehwan’s fate, but Wonsik and Sanghyuk could be implicated as well for not knowing the full details of his case. More than that, Jaehwan hates the idea of Wonsik and Sanghyuk dealing with his mistake––Sanghyuk already suffering for it. 

Jaehwan’s mind conjures the image of the demon writhing from Jaehwan’s magic, and his heart begins to beat fast. He now knows that Chaos magic works against it. 

He slides out of bed, heart thumping in his chest, and pads to his closet. Buried under the boxes and clothes rests a large tome, inscribed with “Kaos Magick” in gold script. He clicks on his bedside lamp and settles beside his bed on the floor, letting the tome fall open at any spot in his hands. As he flips through the many pages, the rough-cut edges prick at his skin, but the sensation reminds him that he is in _this_ moment, that this is real. 

He would rather do something rather than nothing. 

At first, Jaehwan is unsure what he searches for. The tome was given to him by one of the more experienced practitioners at the secret gatherings, and even after Jaehwan had sworn to not practice the magic anymore, guilt gnawed at him and prevented him from throwing it out. Someone had hand-sewn these pages together, written the words with a leaky pen. It felt dishonorable to throw out something like this––illegal or not. 

For extra precaution, Jaehwan gets up and locks his door. He peruses the pages for awhile before deciding to start from the beginning. He flips to the author’s note. 

“Kaos magick has been misaligned by poor association. The majority of magick users associate the name ‘Kaos Realm’ with daemon spawn and their ilk, but this assumption is incorrect. In the Before Times, ‘Infernal Realm’ was used as the proper naming. By attaching ‘Kaos’ to the magick and to the realm of daemons, a false connection was made.

“Magick disappeared altogether from our world during the Dark Ages but was rediscovered during the Enlightened Age. Few as they are, researchers of Kaos magick agree that Enlightened Age magick-users associated the wild form of magick with daemons in order to control the public’s opinion of magick. They needed to propogate a ‘good’ form of magick, so the magick-fearing people may find solace between those with ‘good’ intention and those without. 

“A myth: Magick can be divided between that which is Good and Bad. The truth is that there is only magick; it makes no distinction between who channels it––attaching morality to the world’s own energy is simply a misconception.

“To you who has opened this book: Thank you. If you also wish to uncover the mysteries of this art form that has been lost due to time and politics, then read on. You will find many spells and tips to fully access the lesser-known channel. This author kindly thanks you.” 

Jaehwan flips the page, skimming through the part on summoning his magic. He flips the page again and chooses to read the section on “The Small Form.” 

“Conducting Kaos magick is like standing in a raging river and being instructed to keep your footing. For those familiar with Ordered magick, you may know how users will coax out the power, imposing strict limitations on it to perform to their will. Not that this practice is naive––it takes a considerable amount of skill to _coax_ raw power––but Kaos magick is simply the opposite. You can only suggest where the magick goes. This is why many see the magick as dangerous. To stand in a raging river and subject yourself to it sounds absurd, but that is what Kaos asks of you. 

“You are closer to the power, closer to its true unfiltered nature. In the right hands, Kaos can be powerful, but it can also be destructive. Control is not usually associated with Kaos magic, but it is an important element. You must know what is in control––not you, the small form caught in the river. And only when you relinquish that control can you act as directional tool….”

Jaehwan continues to read well into the night. He knows not how much time passes, so sucked in as he is, but he startles when someone knocks on his door. He blinks opens his eyes. Had he fallen asleep? Sunlight streams through his window. He lays on his side with the book sprawled in front of him. 

He scrambles to his feet, kicking the book under his bed as another resounding knock follows. 

“Jaehwan? Are you awake?”

His clock reads almost eight in the morning. Jaehwan stumbles to the door, fumbles with the lock, and wrenches it open. Taekwoon stands there in his nightclothes, worry pinching his face. “I’m sorry; did I wake you?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Jaehwan tries to hide his yawn and fails. Then he remembers last night. Their terse exchange. Taekwoon, however, does not look to be here for a second round, eyes flitting around at anything but Jaehwan, wringing his fingers in his hands. Jaehwan asks, “Did you, uh, need something?”

Taekwoon looks positively bothered, as if someone has knifed him from behind. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.” 

Jaehwan blinks several times. He lamely remarks, “Oh.”

“Yeah. Um.” Taekwoon shifts his weight to his other foot. “I just– I wanted to let you know that I….” He takes a deep breath but never releases it. 

“Are you okay?”

Taekwoon holds his breath for a few seconds longer, then blows it out. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just wanted to say that I’ve just been on edge these last few days. Just with work things and other things.” 

Jaehwan knows that was not what Taekwoon original wanted to say. He is such a bad liar. Jaehwan leans against his doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m sorry for––you know––doubting you last night.” Jaehwan squeezes his hands into fists. “And listen, I didn’t tell you what happened last night, because,” Jaehwan forces out a small sigh, “I was with Wonsik and Sanghyuk.” 

It takes Taekwoon a moment. Jaehwan can see the wheels moving in his head. “The exorcists?”

“Yeah, we…caught the demon.” Jaehwan taps his toes against the floorboard as he lies. “Everything’s okay now, but it was tough.” 

Jaehwan stiffens when Taekwoon pulls him in for a hug, not expecting the sudden contact. His body relaxes, but he squeezes his eyes shut because he just lied to Taekwoon––again. But…he needed to tell Taekwoon something. Something to assuage him but also to make sure he did not aim to get involved. 

Jaehwan wants to take the lie back, but he bites his tongue. 

Taekwoon holds him at arm’s length. He cracks a smile, looking relieved. “That’s great news. I’m happy for you.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” Jaehwan forces himself to smile and finds he cannot hold eye contact with Taekwoon. Maybe Jaehwan is just as bad of a liar. 

But Taekwoon seems to buy it, continuing to congratulate him. Taekwoon steps back first, a smile still fixed on his face. “Well, I just wanted to apologize before I left, but I’m glad to hear the good news. Sorry again for waking you up.”

Jaehwan replies something like “no, it’s fine,” but the words turn to sand on his tongue, falling away after he speaks them. Long after Taekwoon leaves, his smile remains, sticking out in Jaehwan’s mind. He shuts his door, leaning on it. 

He looks to the space underneath his bed where the Chaos tome lies. Jaehwan will take responsibility for his actions. If he goes down, it will just be him who takes the fall. Taekwoon, nor Wonsik, nor Sanghyuk will pay for his mistakes, but to ensure this he needs someone, someone who practices Chaos magic, to help him. 

Jaehwan retrieves the Chaos tome from under his bed, and flips to the back cover. The last thing he remembered from last night was reading the inscription of the author’s name. The author lives––lived?––in Old Haven, and it would be worth it to pursue someone this knowledgeable to at least put him in contact with someone who can teach him. 

Tonight he has work, but until then Jaehwan decides to research more about the author, Do Kyungsoo. 

 

Taekwoon stands on Hongbin’s doorstep, but it is not Hongbin that he faces but Hakyeon. He tries to find his words, hand still outstretched from knocking. He stutters, “Wh– What are you doing here?” 

Hakyeon’s hair stands in disarray, like he has rubbed his head on a pillow. Repeatedly. His ears twitch, possibly in annoyance. “Am I not allowed to be here?” 

“You know Hongbin? Lee Hongbin?”

Hakyeon pushes aside Taekwoon’s accusatory finger. “No, I suppose I broke in this morning when I noticed he wasn’t here.” 

Taekwoon huffs. “Well, I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“Oh, don’t pout.” 

Hakyeon moves away from the door and gestures for Taekwoon to come in. Taekwoon steps over the threshold and does a full turn. He asks, “So Hongbin isn’t here?”

Hakyeon walks around to the couch and flops onto the blankets and pillows already piled on. “He said he had to do errands. He’ll be––” he yawns, “––back though.” 

“Oh.” 

Hakyeon’s tail flicks as he watches Taekwoon hover by the door. “Why, did you need something?”

“Uh, no. Not really. I, um….”

Hakyeon sits up, ears pressing back slightly as he narrows his eyes at Taekwoon. “You know, you’re very bad at lying.”

“I–” Taekwoon shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well.”

“Is Hongbin specifically needed for this, or can I help you.”

Taekwoon bites his lip. Perhaps it is better that he found Hakyeon instead. “Alright, but if I tell you, you can’t tell Hongbin.” 

Hakyeon raises an eyebrow. “I guess you should come here. Sit down.” He slides over to one side of the couch, patting the cushion beside him. Taekwoon obeys and sits beside the older man. Hakyeon jokes, “Do you need me to make you a drink?” 

Taekwoon scoffs. He has been too busy to visit Hakyeon’s bar, meaning they have not had a proper conversation in weeks. “Did you work last night?”

“Yes. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be so tired.” Hakyeon spreads the blanket across his lap, and after a moment, decides to extend it to Taekwoon’s. Taekwoon lets him. “Hongbin was nice enough to let me catch up on some sleep.” 

“That was nice of him.” 

Hakyeon hums in response. “So. What’s the big secret that I can’t tell Hongbin?” 

“Last night, I argued with Jaehwan.” 

Hakyeon blinks. “I’m assuming there’s more to this story?”

“Right.” He briefly explains to Hakyeon the situation with his mother, and then Jaehwan’s reaction to such news.

“Sounds like he’s concerned about you.” 

Taekwoon nods. “After she left, I felt bad about what happened. I apologized this morning, and he seemed okay with it, but…. But last night I kept thinking about it. More and more.” Taekwoon rubs his hands together. “The last time he left, he said it wasn’t because of something I did, but I keep thinking that maybe it was. We talked this morning a little, but something still feels off.” He draws in a breath, unable to look Hakyeon in the eyes. “I think it’s because I care too much.” 

Taekwoon’s heart pounds as he admits his truth. So small but so large, now sitting between him and Hakyeon. Hakyeon does not respond, and Taekwoon looks over at him.

“Is that the secret?” Hakyeon chuckles. “I thought I knew that.”

A blush creeps to his cheeks. “No, like––I love him.”

“Yes?”

“No.” Taekwoon clutches the blanket in his lap. Hakyeon continues to laugh at him, which exasperates Taekwoon more. “When he’s around, he– he makes my heart beat fast, and sometimes I feel nervous saying exactly what I mean to say. And– and I get so worried about whether he’s okay or not.” Taekwoon sighs. “I was going to confess to him this morning….”

“Apologize _and_ confess? That was ambitious of you.” 

“Which is why changed my mind about telling him.” Taekwoon throws himself against the back of the couch and groans loudly.

“So. Have you told anyone else?”

“I think Hongbin suspects something, but I haven’t told him.” Taekwoon slaps his forehead with an open palm. “It’s just––I’ve sorted it out by now, but some days I just can’t tell if I love him or if….” 

Hakyeon rubs Taekwoon’s shoulder. “Well, of course you love him. You’ve been friends for so long.” 

“That’s my problem.” Taekwoon grabs air with his fingers, like the answer dangles before his eyes, invisible to him. “I’ve never had feelings for anyone else.”

“Remind me, when did you first notice?” 

Taekwoon shrugs. “I don’t know; when I was nineteen? We were always close, but because Jaehwan went to school in Old Haven, we only saw each other on weekends for a long, long time. Even then we both were really busy, and we didn’t always talk as much.

“And then he came back once he graduated. I was busy doing work with Heo, and Jaehwan worked evenings at a restaurant, and….” Taekwoon drops off, not wanting to divulge so much to Hakyeon about Jaehwan’s personal history––the Chaos magic, hooking up in bars. Besides, even though things became more turbulent for Jaehwan, Taekwoon remembers the exact moment it struck him that Jaehwan meant more to him than a friend.

Taekwoon stood in the kitchen at the sink. He stared out the window as the sun rose, drinking from the coffee cup. Heo was in the basement, getting his potions ready for delivery, and once he came up Taekwoon would depart with him. 

A soft tapping put Taekwoon on full alert. Coffee still in hand, he moved to the back door, parting the lacy curtain with his hand. Jaehwan stood on the other side, grinning at him. 

Taekwoon unlocked the door and wrenched it open. “What are you doing?”

“I forgot my key.” 

Jaehwan swept past Taekwoon, hopping up onto the counter and plucking an apple from the bowl of fruit Yeonju insisted on stocking every time she came over. Jaehwan was sitting on the counter facing the sink and window above it, his skin turning pale orange in the light.

Taekwoon looked from Jaehwan’s disheveled clothing to his hair. “Were you out all night?” 

Jaehwan holds a single finger to his lips. “Hush, don’t let the whole house know.” 

Taekwoon rolled his eyes and moved back to the sink, this time facing Jaehwan. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jaehwan scolded. “I didn’t go anywhere near the park or anywhere.” 

“I wasn’t looking at you like anything.” 

“You were; you were looking at me like I licked your coffee cup.” Jaehwan giggled and asked, “Where’s Heo? Is he here?”

Taekwoon points at the floor. 

“Dammit, I need to run then.” However, he stayed sitting, chomping on his apple and kicking out his feet. An unbidden smile arose to Taekwoon’s face, and he had to bite the insides of his cheeks to make himself stop. The morning sunlight crept through the window, painting Jaehwan in orange light, but it also drew attention to the mark on Jaehwan’s neck––red and splotchy. Suddenly an image cropped up in Taekwoon’s head, one of someone pressing Jaehwan into the cabinets, mouth on his neck, biting his skin. 

But then it was Taekwoon––he was the someone. He was holding Jaehwan in his hands and kissing his neck and mussing his already messy hair and––

Taekwoon blinked. 

Jaehwan still smiled at him from the counter, apple in hand. Taekwoon still stood by the sink, coffee cup frozen half-way to his mouth. Jaehwan slid off the counter, wobbling slightly, and plucked the cup out of his hands to take a sip. Immediately, Jaehwan makes a retching sound. “Ugh, that’s foul.” He passed the cup back to Taekwoon. 

Taekwoon only could blink again, growing more and more mortified by the second. 

“You okay?” 

Taekwoon nodded, but his eyes stayed locked on Jaehwan’s hickey. “You, uh….” In place of words, Taekwoon tapped his own neck, and it took a moment but Jaehwan’s eyes widened when he finally understood. 

He blushed red, clapping a hand over his neck. “Thanks for warning me; I’ll have to cover it up somehow.” Jaehwan darted out of the kitchen at that point, running upstairs before Heo had the chance to catch him. 

At first, Taekwoon thought his mind had played tricks on him. He thought it absurd for him to have such a thought of him and Jaehwan, his _friend_ , but the thought continued to haunt him. He would have been lying if he said his mind had never wandered down what-if scenarios, but never had he–– Never could he––

Images plagued Taekwoon. He imagined himself sneaking his hand underneath Jaehwan’s too-long shirtsleeves to find the other’s fingers and hold them in his own. He always had felt a strong sense of protectiveness over Jaehwan, so perhaps it made sense he wanted to be close to him and– and hold him and…. 

But Taekwoon’s wish to be the one kissing Jaehwan stood in sharp contrast to this line of thinking. It took him a long while, perhaps too long, to realize just how in love with Jaehwan he was. Jaehwan: kind to everyone but himself. Jaehwan: funny and so, so patient with Taekwoon’s habit of inflexibility. Jaehwan: able to see the best in people. Taekwoon wanted to stay by his side forever––

Hakyeon jerks Taekwoon out of his reverie. “Do you think Jaehwan would turn you down?”

Taekwoon shrugs. “I can never be sure, right?” He chews on his bottom lip. “I just don’t want to ruin what we have. I can’t tell him and expect him to be okay with staying around.” 

Hakyeon sighs. “Ah, Taekwoon, it’s always complicated, isn’t it?” Taekwoon has no response for that. “Well, I guess your options are to speak your mind or hold your peace.”

“Hold my peace.”

“Okay, well, you should still make an effort to talk to Jaehwan. You two deserve to know what the other is thinking.” At Taekwoon’s expression, Hakyeon is quick to add, “I’m not saying bare your heart to him, but the stuff about not seeing each other and not being able to talk suggests to me that you two, indeed, need to talk.” 

“Everything feels so complicated now….” Taekwoon looks at Hakyeon and scowls. “Don’t tell Hongbin about any of this. I’m serious. I was only going to tell him because I needed to tell someone.” 

Hakyeon lets out another yawn. “Okay, I promise.”

“Good.” Taekwoon looks sidelong at Hakyeon. It is a little odd to see the other in the daytime, not surrounded by drunk people, but Taekwoon wonders how Hongbin never came up in their conversations before. Out loud he states, “I guess Hongbin really does know everyone.”

Hakyeon laughs a little too hard in response. When Taekwoon tries to get him to explain what exactly is funny, Hakyeon waves him off, and after several tries, Taekwoon gives up. Taekwoon scurries out of Hongbin’s apartment before he can come back home, leaving Hakyeon to sleep again. 

Taekwoon feels a bit better having gotten the truth off his chest, but he knows the only true cure is to talk to Jaehwan himself. He tries to do the math in his head, arranging days and such. Jaehwan’s schedule mystifies him. He cannot be sure that Jaehwan will be home once he comes back. Which is another thing: Ask Jaehwan about his work days, so he can get it right once and for all. 

Taekwoon makes the long trek across the city, avoiding the vendors that line the Market Street by ducking down side streets. It takes him longer, but at least he can avoid people shoving vegetables or hand-stitched rugs or other wares in his face. 

He turns onto his street, however, to see a peculiar sight. A carriage emblazoned with the Tradewinds’s logo waits in front of his house. Taekwoon approaches the carriage expecting to see Song Jieun but sees a young man instead. From the driver’s bench, the young man inquires, “Jung Taekwoon?”

“Yes?”

The young man extends a letter to him. “From Lady Song.”

Taekwoon looks from the driver to the letter. He rips it open and unfolds the delicate stationery; his eyes zoom across the page. “She wants me now?” 

“Yes.” The driver clears his throat. “She requested you to come as soon as possible. If you were available.” 

Taekwoon looks back to the house and then back to the driver. He hates the thought of a going somewhere with such short warning, but then he hates it more to send back the carriage back empty. 

He re-folds the letter and tucks it into his pocket. “I suppose I’ll be going then.”

The young man nods and hops off his bench to open the carriage door before Taekwoon can even reach for it. He says, “Watch your step, sir,” as Taekwoon clambers inside. The door shuts behind him, and in a few short moments, the carriage begins to move. 

Taekwoon supposes this is his mother fulfilling her promise to invite him over. He pulls the letter back out and worries his lip as he rereads it. She makes it sound as if she has a few guests that she would like him to meet. Taekwoon hates meeting people. But how can he refuse? He doesn’t want to disappoint her….

The carriage rattles across the city much faster than it took Taekwoon to walk. The carriage takes almost the exact same route but bypasses Hongbin’s neighborhood, on its way past the city limits, into the surrounding area. Taekwoon has never ventured out this far. He keeps the curtain pulled back to watch the surroundings gradually change from dilapidated to refined to rural as they move toward the wealthy villas and mansions that lie outside the city.

The carriage passes by gated pathways, tall trees obscuring the real property from site. Taekwoon cranes his neck to glimpse just part of the shining houses. 

Soon the carriage pulls up to a tall, twisted iron gate, and the two uniformed men standing watch let them pass through. 

The ride feels agonizing at this point. Anticipation lurches in Taekwoon’s stomach, making his limbs quiver. He shakes out his hands, scowling at himself. What is there to be nervous about? His body insists that it does not know, but there is. 

The carriage pulls up to a white mansion, bigger than Taekwoon’s ever seen. He gapes at it nestled between the lush green of trees and bushes; flowers and ferns organized in a careful arrangement around the structure. Taekwoon’s so focused on the scenery that he does not notice the driver until he opens the carriage door. 

“Watch your step, sir.”

Taekwoon steps out and looks down at his clothes. His apprentice robes are smudged with dirt, the hem fraying at the bottom. He looks imperfect next to the structure. A week ago, he wouldn’t have minded so much. 

As Taekwoon hastily tries to pat himself down, a noise directly to his front startles him. He jerks his head up. “Hello!” A young girl stands before him, hands clasped behind her back. “Lady Song has been looking forward to seeing you, sir.” 

“Um, hello.”

“You can follow me.” The little girl turns on her heel to walk back toward the house, and Taekwoon obeys. 

He passes through the double-front doors and steps into a spacious foyer. The curtains have been tied away from the windows, and the white walls and pale marble floors accentuate opulent space. A series of busts line either wall; Taekwoon wonders who they all are. He happens to glance upward, and a crystal chandelier winks back at him. 

The little girl, however, did not stop so Taekwoon could admire his mother’s home. When he looks back at her, Taekwoon realizes he has been left far behind, and he has to jog to catch up. She has taken the left-most hallway––the outer wall just another large window and the inner-most wall decorated with various portraits of men and women decked in layers of silk and lace and other refinery. Once again Taekwoon wonders who the people are. Are they related to him? The thought does something funny to his stomach. 

The little girl stops in front of a door, waiting patiently for Taekwoon to catch up. Once he does, she says, “Right this way, sir,” and leads him inside. 

Inside is a room made entirely of glass––the walls and ceiling both. Plants decorate the room, hanging from various structures and snaking around poles and through the exposed scaffolding. Taekwoon feels as if he has entered a dream. Surely no place is this beautiful. 

“Ah, and there he is.” 

Taekwoon’s eyes snap to the center of the room where a small table has been set up. Song Jieun and three other people sit around it, and his mother beckons to him with her gloved hand, her lips curling in a smile. Taekwoon walks over, darting glances to the others. Just as he feared, he has no idea who these the well-dressed strangers are. 

His mother’s hand remains outstretched, and it takes Taekwoon a second before he realizes what she wants him to do. He lifts her hand to his mouth, bending slightly, and pecks the back of it. 

“So heartwarming.” 

Taekwoon looks over at the one who spoke, a middle-aged man with a graying mustache. He lays a hand over his heart, like the sight lit a warm fire inside him. The two women bracketing him also wear similar expressions. 

His mother holds his hand, looking across the table at her guests. “This is Taekwoon. He is an apprentice of magic, but you already knew that, I am sure.”

One of the women quirks a brow. “Oh, yes, I have definitely heard of your name. It sounds like you are quite a talented young man.”

“Thank you.”

She goes on to say, “Your mother was just telling us about how you two reunited. I am sure it is a blessing to be reconnected with her.” 

His mother squeezes his hand. Taekwoon looks down at their fingers clasped together, and he tries to find the words that fit this feeling. Finally, he looks back to the woman and tells her, “I’m very grateful that she took a chance and sent me that letter. I’ve never felt so…happy.” 

A chorus of coos follows his words, and Taekwoon bites down on his cheek, feeling embarrassed from the attention. Truthfully, he wanted to say “whole,” but he felt his meaning would not be as understood. Perhaps “happy” is a stretch, however they seemed to like it. 

“What a handsome fellow,” the man remarks just as Taekwoon’s mother releases him. “Are you seeing anyone, son? There is quite a shortage of talented and available young men on the market.” 

Taekwoon immediately stiffens. 

“Now, now,” came the serene voice of his mother. “I’m sure Taekwoon has more on his mind than marriage proposals.” Although her voice is soft, Taekwoon detects the edge in it and so do the others. A beat passes where no one breathes––and then the table dissolves into small chuckles, all hidden behind dainty hands. 

“True. Very true,” says the man. He smiles at Taekwoon, then readjusts his waistcoat. “Forgive me if that was forward, but my daughter is getting to the age where I would like to see her with someone reputable.” 

One of the women launches into a story about someone’s son just arriving in the city, and Taekwoon zones out. He feels awkward just standing there. His eyes dart around the room. 

His mother notices. She touches the back of his hand and says, “Oh, I apologize. I forgot to have someone find a chair.” She mother frowns, seeming put off by that fact, but then brightens. “Ah, I know. One should be in the hall.” 

Taekwoon looks at the door. “Oh. I can get it.” 

She grasps his sleeve. “How about you demonstrate exactly what you can do? I am sure our guests would love to see.” 

At this point the guests have their attentions turned back to mother and son. They chatter in approval. “Yes, show us! We would be delighted to see.” 

Did she expect him to fly the chair into the room? Without seeing it? Taekwoon racks his brain and tries to remember where the chair had been in the hallway. He can hear Heo’s voice of outrage in his head, yelling at him about using magic for willy-nilly things. He opens his mouth. “I––”

“Are you not able to?” His mother blinks at him, looking crestfallen. “Of course, I should have––”

“No, um. I can.” Taekwoon firms his hands into fists. A small tug of guilt pulls at him. He can do this one thing. His mother knows nothing about Heo’s rules. Besides, he already operates under forged permission. Bringing a stupid chair into the room is not the worst he has done. 

Taekwoon turns toward the door, the excited guests now to his back. He blocks out their excited giggles and dips into the pool of magic that lies within him. He walks to the reserve’s edge, guiding a thin stream and coaxing it to the surface. He can feel his hands warm with the power. 

In his mind, he probes the layout of the house. He whispers an enchantment under his breath and that allows him to silently extend his mind into the hall, reaching and reaching for the upholstered chair that supposedly exists. After a moment, he finds it. There it is at the end of the hall. But then Taekwoon spots a more impressive chair, this one with a high-back and colored a deep shade of red. It is much bigger than the first chair––that one more for decoration than anything. 

Taekwoon makes a split-second decision. 

He shoots his magic from his fingertips, sending it in a steady stream out of the glass room and into the hallway, bypassing the smaller chair for the impressive one. The chair is much heavier than the first, but Taekwoon navigates it easily down the hallway, careful not to bump into the walls or occasional decorations. A collective gasp announces the chair’s arrival. 

Really, it is not that impressive, but Taekwoon flushes all the same. 

He directs the chair to place itself beside his mother and then he relinquishes his magic. He smiles at his mother, but unfortunately she is looking at the guests, smiling at their delighted features. Taekwoon finally takes his seat but feels silly now because everyone has now turned their attention to him. 

“What else can you do?” 

“Oh, I have never seen a wizard do something so fun.” 

Taekwoon tries to clarify that he is not an official wizard, but his mother quickly overrides him “Yes, I told you he is talented.” She smiles, touching her cheek with her hand. “How can I not be proud?”

Taekwoon’s stomach bottoms out, does a whole series of flips and jumps as it dances around her words. Something like giddiness blossoms in him. He can feel his smile spreading, warmth lighting him up from within. 

His mother looks at him, fond smile in place. “Dear, can you show us more?” 

He does not hesitate this time. “Of course.” Magic slips through his hands and its blue glow dazzles the on-lookers. As he juggles a few balls of magic between his hands, he sneaks a glance at his mother as she looks from Taekwoon’s magic and back to her guests. Her smile has grown wider, and the last bit of Taekwoon that had decided he did not need his parents, that he did not need a family, finally crumbles. A sense of belonging fills him up to the brim. 

His magic bursts into a shower of soft stars over the guests, and they clap for him, thoroughly entertained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the chapters may get longer from this point forward  
> \- hope everyone's having a wonderful day  
> \- if you're in uni/school, i hope you pass all your exams✨


	7. Chapter 7

The train spits Jaehwan out in Old Haven’s shopping district, for once close enough to his destination to be helpful. The train ride lasted an hour, bringing back memories of all the times Jaehwan took the train to and from school. But today’s visit to Old Haven is for a different purpose.

In the back of Jaehwan’s Chaos book, he had found the words “The Dark Emporium” stamped in dark ink. Jaehwan scoured several phone books before finding that the name referred to a store in Old Haven, and since he and Taekwoon did not own a phone, he scurried to the nearest phone booth with the shop name, the name Do Kyungsoo, and a phone number scribbled on a scrap of paper. He had nearly frozen to death while waiting for the call to connect. 

When it finally did, Jaehwan then had a short and slightly perplexing conversation with presumably someone who worked at the store. Jaehwan had tried to give them a description of the book, but they were unwilling to discuss it over the phone. When Jaehwan asked if he could come by, after a moment’s pause, the person agreed to a face-to-face conversation. 

So here Jaehwan stood, bundled in a coat and scarf in the middle of the shopping district. People bustle around him as Jaehwan turns in circle, repeating the address to himself. He then stops in his tracks. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the street he needs, and Jaehwan heads in the direction, realizing with a jolt of optimism that this may not be as difficult as he thought. 

Jaehwan finds the shop soon after. A small wooden sign declares “The Dark Emporium This Way!” and directs Jaehwan to the back of the building where a narrow set of stone steps leads to a small basement door. The eerie sight sets Jaehwan on edge, making him remember the odd phone conversation. He sends a prayer up to whoever may be listening and hopes this does not end in his own murder. Jaehwan takes a deep breath and descends the stairs. 

Jaehwan pushes into the shop, a high-pitched bell dinging as he walks in. He shuts the door behind him and does a slow turn-around, quirking an eyebrow at the sight.

The shop has been clustered with an array of displays. Shelves line the walls, stacked with everything from books to various jars of liquids and powders. Handwritten signs identify these jars––some plant-based but others with animal ingredients. Insect wings, rat tails, petrified salamanders are just a few of the things Jaehwan sees. None of these are shocking to him––healers use most of these ingredients to aid their abilities as well, and the stores Taekwoon frequents also sells these things. The Dark Emporium does not seem so dark. Jaehwan stands in the middle of the store wondering if he truly has the right place. 

“Can I help you?” 

Jaehwan jumps at the voice, his soul entering an alternate plane. He clutches at his chest and swears under his breath as he spies the small fellow behind the counter. Jaehwan blinks several times. He was sure the shop had been empty when he entered. Finally remembering that he had been asked a question, Jaehwan says, “Yes, I called earlier.”

The man blinks at Jaehwan then bends his head over the open book before him. He drags a finger down the page as if Jaehwan had not spoken. 

“Um––”

“About what?”

Jaehwan shifts and takes a few steps closer to the counter. “I have…a book. I need help.” 

“With what? As you can see, there’s plenty of things here that should aid any magical mishap.”

Jaehwan looks around the shop to make sure no one else is around. Once satisfied, he steps closer to the counter, laying his hands on the surface. He lowers his voice and says, “I need help with Chaos magic.” 

The man’s focus switches from his book to Jaehwan, his sharp eyes carving into him. He looks Jaehwan up and down. “Hold out your palms,” he demands. 

Jaehwan does so.

The man places his hands over Jaehwan’s, and Jaehwan grimaces as the man’s own magic pulls at his, much like the amulet did. Jaehwan begins to feel slightly sick but it ends in a flash as the man breaks the connection. They stare at each other. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Lee Jaehwan. Are you the one that I spoke to on the phone?” 

The man flicks his hands out, and the sign in the window flips to say “CLOSED” and a tapestry unfurls over the door, blocking the glass. Jaehwan looks back at the man’s hands to see red magic sinking back into his skin. The man holds a hand out to Jaehwan again, but this time to shake hands. “I’m Do Kyungsoo.” He waits a beat. “Why so shocked?” 

Jaehwan shakes his hand and schools his expression. From the look of the book, Jaehwan had expected the author to be––well––dead. The book seemed ancient to him. He clears his throat. “Uh, so _you_ wrote the book?” 

“I’ve written many, but I’ll assume that yes, that’d be me. Very few modern writers have written so extensively on Chaos magic.” 

Jaehwan’s eyes rove over Do Kyungsoo’s face. He looks barely older than him. “You…you can’t be old enough to have written it.” 

“The book was a result of many years spent researching and compiling information.” Do Kyungsoo smiles a little. “I’ve tampered with my natural appearance, so forgive me if I don’t exactly look my true age.” 

“And how old are we talking?”

“Just a few decades older than what you see.” 

“So the book really isn’t that old.” Jaehwan finds this fact hard to swallow, the fancy script and rough-cut pages seemingly from hundreds of years ago.

“Yes, probably not as old as you’re imagining.” Kyungsoo gestures for Jaehwan to move around the counter. “Here, follow me.” He disappears behind a curtain tacked to the wall, and Jaehwan hastens to follow. He parts the orange curtain to see a small hallway lined with stacks and stacks of books. This Kyungsoo guy could rival Taekwoon for book collections. 

“The book,” Kyungsoo continues as he leads Jaehwan, “was put together by me. I assume the book you mean is the one simply labeled ‘Kaos Magick’? No publishing company wanted to touch the material.” Kyungsoo sidesteps a precarious stack of loose papers, tilting dangerously to the side. “So I distributed a few copies to my closest friends. How did you come across it?” 

“It, uh, was given to me by…a friend.” 

“In here,” the small man directs.

Jaehwan follows Kyungsoo’s into a small room at the end of the hallway. The interior room has no windows, leaving the space dark even when Kyungsoo pulls the single lightbulb’s long chain. Kyungsoo runs a hand over his close-cut hair and returns his gaze to Jaehwan. “Well, I suppose I can be grateful you got your hands on it instead of someone from the Bureau.” He offers a small smile before straightening the sleeves of his robe. Much like Taekwoon, Kyungsoo’s work robes are also in a sad state. His hems are frayed like a broken spiderweb, trailing strings behind all his movements. 

“So,” Kyungsoo says, “tell me specifically what you want to know. I don’t go around teaching anyone the proper use of Chaos magic.” 

Jaehwan chews his lip. “It seems to be the only type of magic that I can use.” He tells Kyungsoo of his inability to use Order, and his demon, and the fact that his only option lies in using Chaos.

Kyungsoo runs a finger over his lip, thinking. “You could get in a lot of trouble with your demon.” 

“I see it that I’ll be in trouble either way.” Jaehwan swallows. “All I can do is minimize the damage that it does.”

“Fair point.” Kyungsoo walks to a shelf on the far wall and removes a rolled-up sheet and drapes it over the floorboards. He grabs a leather pouch from another corner of the room, and as he sprinkles several layers of dust, his red roiling magic dances over the cloth. Kyungsoo does this for a few minutes before seeming satisfied. “This is to protect the room from what may happen.” He gives Jaehwan a smile that does nothing to reassure him. “Hopefully, we won’t need it but better to be prepared for the worst.”

Jaehwan nods, remembering his many failed lessons with Taekwoon. 

“How much do you already know of Chaos magic?”

Jaehwan thinks. “I know in the ways it’s different from Order. I know that some things are easier to do with Chaos,” he breaks into an embarrassed smile that quickly fades, “like summoning a demon.”

Kyungsoo nods. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately.” He clears his throat. “I’ve been taught Order since I was a child, and I understand the process, but…I just can’t.” 

“Not unusual.”

Jaehwan blinks. “Excuse me?”

“It doesn’t surprise me.” Kyungsoo shrugs, like the information that Jaehwan has been struggling with all his life is simply no shock to him. “Over all my years, I’ve had many people confess this very thing to me––former students and colleagues alike––and heard from them of others who experience the same.” He shrugs again, holding up two fingers. “The magic has two routes. In those who cannot use magic, both are blocked. The same goes for anyone else. People like yourself have their Order path obstructed.” 

Jaehwan swallows this information and lets it settle. This whole time…he has been one of many? Relief but also irritation flares within him. “Why could no one tell me that? Why––”

Kyungsoo holds up a gentle hand. “I understand your frustration, and while it is well-deserved, I’d hate for you to get the wrong idea. When I took your hands in mine and read your magic, I was specifically looking for blocks in your paths. Because I’m familiar with them and have been told by others like you about their inability to use their Order magic, I didn’t overlook the small signs.

“You see, when children are tested to see if magic is present in them, all they look for is if there is magic or not. Someone who cannot channel magic will obviously fail the test. In you, all they would have seen is the presence of magic because only your Chaos channel is open.” 

Jaehwan thinks back to all the times he was scolded and punished for not being able to perform. He thinks of all the years he spent telling himself he was a failure. He thinks of how his stupid insecurities with magic contributed to the insecurities with himself. He grips his hands into fists. If he knew all those years ago that nothing was wrong, that he was not stupid, would he have still spiraled? Would it have been better to know that he had the power but could not use it? 

Jaehwan frowns. “Those people like me…” he takes in a breath, “what do they do? They can’t use their magic, right?” 

Kyungsoo nods solemnly. “They can’t. But for some of them just knowing is enough to satisfy them. As you can imagine, for others it isn’t.” Kyungsoo scratches at his chin. “As someone who practices Chaos magic, it would be wrong of me to advise them not to, but at the same time, I must offer a word of caution to using it.” He looks Jaehwan dead in the eye. “This is me telling you that Chaos magic already has a bad enough name. If you use it only for tampering with the Infernal Realm, then I will have to ask you to leave.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes drive into him, and Jaehwan fully understands the gravity of the man’s words. A whole group of people cannot use their magic in fear of being prosecuted and jailed. For the millionth time, Jaehwan regrets summoning the demon. He tells Kyungsoo, “I made a mistake summoning the demon, and I have to put it right. After this, I promise to never mess with it anymore.” 

“Good.” Kyungsoo must believe him because he waves Jaehwan closer and says, “Now. Let’s see what you can do.” 

Jaehwan spends the rest of his day with Kyungsoo, practicing simple spells, getting the feel for the magic. It is one thing to summon it and another to manipulate it. Kyungsoo is a patient teacher, however, not jumping down Jaehwan’s throat when he makes a mistake. By the time evening comes, Jaehwan knows how to sustain his magic for long periods of time without giving himself completely over to it. Kyungsoo smiles at Jaehwan’s giddy expression and tells him to come back any time to continue practicing. 

Jaehwan practically skips the whole way to the train station. 

His good mood makes the train ride pass in an instant, the walk home shorter than it has ever felt. The idea of his magic–– _his magic_ ––working, of it _not_ being abnormal, is just the reassurance Jaehwan needed. 

Jaehwan makes it home just as the last of the sun’s rays fade from the sky, bursting into the house as a song bursts from his lips. Jaehwan’s entrance earns Taekwoon’s attention as he looks up from where he sits reading on the couch. At first, he blinks several times as if surprised by Jaehwan’s singing, and Jaehwan thinks the reaction is odd, until he fails to recall the last time he has sung around Taekwoon. 

Taekwoon moves slowly. His wild hair hinting at how his hands must have been running through it moments before Jaehwan came through, and his soft pants hang low on his hips. His bare feet pad across the floor to Jaehwan, but he moves much too slowly. 

Jaehwan drops his bag inside the door, kicks off his shoes, and strides over to Taekwoon to meet him in the middle of the floor. He grasps Taekwoon’s hands in his own and manages to pull him forward in a sloppy, stumbling twirl of feet. 

As their fingers tangle, Jaehwan giggles as he spins Taekwoon around and around. Jaehwan expected Taekwoon to resist, but his friend grins, matching Jaehwan’s movements without question. When Jaehwan nearly falls, Taekwoon manages to catch him, almost falling in the process. 

For a moment, Jaehwan’s heart stops. The near fall and then Taekwoon clutching him makes his chest constrict, and Jaehwan has to remember how to breathe and that Taekwoon is using all his strength to keep Jaehwan suspended. 

Jaehwan gets his feet under him. He looks up into Taekwoon’s face, his own splitting into a grin. Taekwoon’s hands rest on Jaehwan’s elbows. Jaehwan would love if the moment could be frozen like this–– _please, stay like this_ ––but Taekwoon clears his throat, and his hands fall away. 

Suddenly something is thrusted into Jaehwan’s still-open palm. A small envelope. 

“What is this?” Jaehwan tugs a thumb under the fold to open it and unsheathes a card, gold script glinting in the light. 

Taekwoon intones, “It’s an invitation.” 

Jaehwan glances up at his smile, fading by the second. He looks uncomfortable now, like this is the last thing he wants to do. Taekwoon says, “For a party.”

“A what?”

“My mother wants me to be there.” Taekwoon rubs the back of his neck. “And I can invite one person.” 

“I’m sure Hongbin’d love to go.”

This does not make Taekwoon’s smile return. Instead, he takes the invitation out of Jaehwan’s hands. “Fine, if you don’t want to go––”

“When is it?”

“Two days from now.” Taekwoon’s tone remains indifferent, but Jaehwan knows this is more inconvenient for him than he lets on. Taekwoon has never done well at large social functions, and he must be inviting Jaehwan for the moral support.

“Then I’ll dust off my best get-up.” Jaehwan waits to see if Taekwoon will make a comment, but the older does not. He nods and his shoulders droop slightly, releasing the tension held there. He returns to the couch, picking up his book, and goes back to reading.

Jaehwan shuts himself in his room, displeased he will be forced to interact with Taekwoon’s mother but also thrilled by the opportunity to go out. He has never been to what he expects to be a lavish party. Jaehwan runs a hand through his hair. 

He catches his reflection in the mirror. 

Instead of examining his appearance, he opens his palm to unleash a burst of bright, yellow magic. It zig-zags in the air, wild and raw––much unlike the soft glow of Taekwoon’s. Jaehwan closes his fist; it is an outward action to help bring about the inner action of sealing away the magic, but even around his sealed fingers sparks leap forward. They soon fizzle away, the magic leaving him breathless, and Jaehwan looks back at his reflection, his other self radiating in the after-glow. 

He smiles at himself, pleased with what he sees.

 

Jaehwan whistles as the carriage approaches. Standing in front of the house, he glimpses the intricate hand-carved designs of the wood, the delicate floral patterns carved into the wheels. A large T is emblazoned on the side of the carriage. Jaehwan turns to Taekwoon, who stands stiff at his side, and bows low. He says, “My lord, you may enter first.” 

As hoped, Taekwoon scoffs and jabs a thumb into Jaehwan’s side, embarrassed at the display. Jaehwan chuckles and straightens up just as the carriage pulls to a complete stop in front of them. The driver hops down from his seat, opening the cabin door with a flourish. 

“Good evening, sirs.” 

Jaehwan snorts, and out of the corner of his eye, it seems that Taekwoon is biting back a smile. 

They climb into the carriage, sitting on opposite benches, and the door shuts behind them, leaving them in partial darkness. Outside, dusk quickly turns to night, the streetlights already on. The artificial light peeks through the curtains, flitting across the knees of Jaehwan’s fitted trousers. 

Out of the two, Jaehwan made more of an effort to dress up. Dressed in high-waisted black trousers––the ones that are slightly too-tight around his thighs–– and tucking a loose, billowy cream-colored shirt into them, Jaehwan aims to impress. He left the lace-up V of his shirt mostly undone, because while it makes him feel slightly self-conscious, he knows for a fact that his collarbones deserve to see the world. (It helps that his past boyfriends all had a particular love for them.)

Jaehwan bends over to swipe away the dust on the toes of his shiny shoes, and as he straightens, the cold of the necklace shifts on his chest. He lays a hand over it, realizing at once that it has tangled with the laces of his shirt. He scowls as he disentangles the bird pendant with one hand. He still has not decided if he wants Taekwoon to notice it or not––the necklace that is. 

Jaehwan wore it always, once upon a time, so wearing it again should not be cause for hand-wringing or nerves dancing. He tells himself that Taekwoon would care not at all if he did happen to take notice. But Jaehwan still tucks the necklace under his shirt, hidden mostly by the criss-crossing of laces, the darkness concealing his slight embarrassment. A childish habit he once had, now begun again. As a child, Jaehwan had carried on wearing the necklace because it was a comforting reflex, but without carrying it on him for so long, the action feels as if it carries new weight.

A shiver runs through him.

Taekwoon sighs, a long heavy thing, and Jaehwan looks over to his side of the carriage. He can make out Taekwoon’s outline but little else. Taekwoon chastises, “I told you to wear a coat. You’ll freeze before the night is over.” 

“I don’t have one that goes with this outfit.” Jaehwan works his jaw. “And you didn’t either. I checked.”

“You’re unbelievable sometimes.” 

The carriage jostles, the curtain parting to shed moonlight over Taekwoon’s wry expression, then down his chest, over his long legs, before the cabin returns to darkness. Jaehwan knows better than to believe his jibes. The arms folded and tucked tight under his elbows and the rigid press of his mouth is enough to tell Jaehwan that, even though Taekwoon agreed to the event, he wishes that upon arrival someone will run up to them, declaring it canceled. Jaehwan would see a smile then.

Jaehwan smiles to himself. It tickles the selfish part of him that Taekwoon needs him here over anyone else. Not that Taekwoon has many to pick from, but he asked Jaehwan. Not Hakyeon. Not anyone else. 

Jaehwan subtly stretches in his seat. The past two days he has spent in Kyungsoo’s back room, receiving instruction on how best to channel his magic. The release has thrilled him, but his body aches from the conditioning. He is far from perfect but applying himself has given him something to think about other than the demon or the impending party.

Jaehwan slides his eyes toward the window. Never having ridden in a carriage before, he parts the curtain, marveling at the speed through which they cross the city. On foot, the distance would have taken much longer. He watches the city lights pass by, the sky now the darkened blue of night. As they move outside the city and towards the countryside and then toward the grand estates of the rich and powerful, Jaehwan presses his forehead against the glass, craning his neck to take in everything. 

This draws a laugh out of Taekwoon. “Careful to not break your neck. Or the window for that matter.” 

Jaehwan ignores him. He glimpses parts of the grand homes through the thickets of trees and gated drives, resplendent gardens filled with a variety of flowers made seen by a smattering of lanterns on each property. Night makes it hard for Jaehwan to see their full scope, his imagination running rampant for what they may look like in the day. 

The carriage rattles as they veer into one of the properties, the tall gates parting as they pass through the entrance, following the winding path toward the main house. Jaehwan’s breath fogs the glass, eyeing the small lanterns lighting the path and the manicured lawn and the multiple marble sculptures of who-knows-who. The price of the lawn-care alone would far outweigh Jaehwan’s own life. 

And, when the main house comes into view, Jaehwan finds it even harder to believe that Taekwoon belongs to all this.

The large white house glows, lights inside and out doing their best to show the grandeur it possesses. The carriage pulls closer to the main door, where people seem to be funneling in, decked in their jewels and satins. Gloves pulled up to their elbows, mustaches tightly twirled––the people glitter as much as the lights. Jaehwan felt alright about his outfit before he left the house, but now as he eyes the other guests, he feels more and more plain. 

“You look nice.” 

Jaehwan looks over to Taekwoon to see his friend’s eyes locked on him. One more time, Jaehwan is grateful for the darkened cabin; the pink on his cheeks would be hard to explain. “Th– Thanks,” he says, turning his face to look back out the window. They inch closer and closer to the front door. Jaehwan fidgets and looks back at Taekwoon, “You do, too.” 

Taekwoon replies, “You don’t have to lie.”

“Well, I’m not.” Jaehwan cannot help the smile that rises. When Taekwoon and Jaehwan met in the living room before they left, Jaehwan took one look at the other’s outfit before reminding him that they were indeed going to be attending his _rich_ mother’s party. Taekwoon dressed himself in a variation of his work clothes. Long black trousers (free of any holes or thinning in the knees) and a simple buttoned-up shirt. His boots were the ones he always wore but it seemed that he attempted to clean them up. He had, however, wore his hair loose and parted to the side.

Jaehwan says, “I like the hair.” 

Taekwoon does not deem this worthy of a response, but Jaehwan can tell that the other is pleased by the way he runs a hand through it. 

The carriage lurches forward for a final time, and an unfamiliar young man opens the cabin door. He directs Jaehwan and Taekwoon out. Jaehwan steps down onto the stone pathway and lets himself gawk. “Wow,” he whispers. He twirls in a semi-circle, then a full circle, eager to absorb every detail. “If I ever get rich,” he informs Taekwoon, “we’re definitely moving.” 

Taekwoon huffs behind him as he straightens out his winter robe, breath puffing in front of his face. The fur-lined insides do well to keep him warm; unlike Jaehwan, whose shivers will not stop. Taekwoon rolls his eyes, pulling on Jaehwan’s sleeve to get him to stop turning in circles. “Come on,” he directs, tugging him toward the double-set of doors, where all the guests file in. The guests in their finery press in on all sides as the two merge with the crowd. Jaehwan looks around at the sheer amount of people. He wonders if Taekwoon knew the event was to be this large. After being jostled by an oblivious gentleman brandishing his gleaming pocket watch, Jaehwan reaches out and grabs the shoulder of Taekwoon’s cloak. He will be damned if he loses Taekwoon in this menagerie. 

Taekwoon looks at the hand on his shoulder and nods to himself as if Jaehwan asked him a question. 

The mansion’s wide hallways accommodate the stream of people, but every few feet some will stop to converse and greet those that they recognize. Lined against the hallway, servants politely suggest that guests move their conversation to the ballroom, and while most jovially agree, some remain where they are to disrupt the flow. Taekwoon sees such a group and instead of worming around, he barrels straight through. Jaehwan profusely says, “Pardon me. Excuse us,” as he rubs shoulders with the strangers giving them dirty looks. 

As they move closer to the ballroom, a servant approaches them, taking Taekwoon’s robe for safe-keeping. Now that he has been spotted, however, the others call out greetings as he passes. This causes more than a few guests to turn and stare, suddenly realizing who Taekwoon is. Taekwoon, after all, is not dressed like the other wizards in attendance. He has no crest to sew into every article of clothing; he does not twirl his magic from his fingers in unwanted displays of power. No, Taekwoon’s slouched posture and plain clothes take the guests by surprise as his name ripples through the crowd. Shivers run up Jaehwan’s arms as one woman’s expression changes from disgust to ecstasy as she learns Taekwoon, son of Song Jieun, is in attendance. Jaehwan tightens his grip on Taekwoon. 

“I guess,” Jaehwan leans into Taekwoon’s ear, “that you’re a fan favorite.” His chuckle sounds unsteady, even to his own ears, but Taekwoon does not comment on it. 

Finally, they enter the large, circular ballroom. The decadent chandelier calls for Jaehwan’s attention, and as he chances a glance at the elaborate crystals, Taekwoon manages to slip from his grasp. Jaehwan blinks, looking around just as a group passes in front of him, in the spot where Taekwoon was. He spins around, scanning for him. 

A hand grabs his, and Jaehwan whirls around to see Taekwoon with a frown etched into his face. Whatever mood was present in the carriage has deteriorated into something more irritable. “Pay attention,” he hisses, but his grip does not match his tone. He holds Jaehwan’s hand loose enough that Jaehwan could slip out if he wanted. 

Jaehwan rolls his eyes, feigning calmness as their palms touch. He retorts, “I am paying attention. I’m paying a lot of attention, actually.” He grips Taekwoon’s hand, tight enough to not let him slip away. 

Taekwoon sighs, turning on his heel and pulling Jaehwan forward. The two move toward the edge of the room, trying to move to a less crowded area, but the room is already half-filled. And while many recognize Taekwoon, Jaehwan recognizes many of them. He has seen their likes in The Red Room, calling for more alcohol and better entertainment, and while he doubts any of them remember his face, he has the urge to duck away and drag Taekwoon from the room.

Perhaps tonight was not as good of an idea as Jaehwan thought.

“How wonderful that you both made it.” Jaehwan turns to see Taekwoon’s mother approaching them, dressed in a high-necked dark blue gown, her loose sleeves billowing as she stretches out her arms toward them. She smiles at Taekwoon and Jaehwan, looking between them as she extends her hands. 

Taekwoon takes one and kisses it, while Jaehwan hesitates a moment too long before placing his own kiss to the back of her hand. Dropping it, he surprises himself by speaking first. “Some party. Your guests know how to dress.” 

“Yourself included.” She appraises Jaehwan’s appearance, eyes lingering on the V of his shirt. Her stare tempts him to tug on his laces, closing the V, if that means she will stop. 

When Taekwoon says, “It feels like the whole city is here tonight,” she finally tears her eyes away to look at her son. 

Her eyes quickly rove over his outfit but when she speaks, she neglects to comment on it. She says, “And more on the way.” She smiles as if sharing a secret. “If you want to start on time, you must tell your guests to arrive early, but the trick is not to let them know they are. Oh, excuse me for a moment.” 

She hurries past them, and Jaehwan drops his smile. His eyes track her as she approaches another group, but Taekwoon catches his sleeve, forcing Jaehwan’s attentions back to him. “Please,” Taekwoon asks. His voice barely registers above the chatter and the serenade of the unseen string orchestra, so a bit louder Taekwoon repeats, “Please, give her a chance.” 

“I am,” Jaehwan promises. The lie feels natural, not even like it is a lie. 

Taekwoon presses his mouth into a line, closer to a smile than a frown. “Sorry,” he says, “I just––”

But Jaehwan never finds out what he is to say for Miss Song returns. With company. “Taekwoon,” she says, like this is the first time she has seen him in years, “I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine.” She directs attention to the short, round man that walked over with her, and starts to introduce him to her son. 

Jaehwan never expected an introduction, but Miss Song neglects to give one and the man does not ask. A month ago, he would have taken this more to heart, but right now Jaehwan focuses more on the conversation happening around him. He can tell that Taekwoon has zoned out, made especially obvious when his mother asks, “Taekwoon, would you be up to showing him something?”

A full beat passes. Taekwoon blinks, opens his mouth and then closes it. He looks between the man and his mother and opens his mouth again––

“Perhaps now wouldn’t be the best time.” Jaehwan digs his own nails into his palms. All three are now staring at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Jaehwan clears his throat, but the man beats him to it. 

He blusters, “Oh, of course now would be the best time. Now or never, am I right?” He looks at Taekwoon. “Sure you could show us something.” 

Taekwoon shoots a look to Jaehwan, and he realizes what Taekwoon means to do. His friend licks his lips and says, “Something small should be fine.” 

Jaehwan bites his lip, forcing down his objections. He feels as if he is the only one to think this is a bad idea. Jaehwan may not have personally taken part in Heo’s lessons, but with his ears pressed to floorboards or head poked around the corner, Jaehwan absorbed them in some way. Magic is not just for tricks. And, as much as Jaehwan has neglected to follow Heo’s rules, he can see where this is going. One person asks for something, then another and then the whole room is asking for a performance. People love a good show.

Taekwoon asks the man for one of the buttons on his waist-coat who then eagerly breaks the stitch; he presses the button into Taekwoon’s open palm. Taekwoon wraps his hand around it, shutting his eyes as his blue magic whorls around his fist. A few seconds later, he opens his palm to reveal a shiny blue sapphire.

The man swears and even Miss Song looks surprised. “Just a _bit_ of magic, you say,” the man guffaws. “Just a bit!”

“I haven’t really turned it into a jewel,” Taekwoon rushes to explain, “but it will appear so for maybe half the hour.” 

Taekwoon steps forward to place the “button” back on the man’s waist-coat, using his magic to mend the broken stitch. “How wonderful,” the man mutters.

At that moment, another party guest approaches and distracts the man and Miss Song, and Jaehwan uses the moment to grasp Taekwoon by his elbow. “What are you doing?” 

“Little things satisfy them.” Taekwoon, however, cannot meet Jaehwan’s eyes. “It’s not a problem.” 

“It will be if others start asking you to do things for them.” 

Taekwoon waves away his words. “It’ll be fine.”

“Do they just expect you to––”

Miss Song turns back to them just then, effectively cutting off Jaehwan’s admonishment. “Taekwoon dear, will you come with me? I have a few more people you need to meet.” 

Jaehwan scoffs, but the noise is masked by server approaching them, offering everyone flutes of champagne. Taekwoon’s mother hands one to her son and then one to Jaehwan, although neither asked, and then places her hand under Taekwoon’s elbow to guide him to the next round of people. 

Jaehwan watches them walk away without a backward glance. He grimaces, following behind at a much slower pace. 

The whole night continues in this pattern. Miss Song passes Taekwoon between various acquaintances, they banter back and forth (his mother and the people, definitely not Taekwoon), Taekwoon does a little trick with his magic, and Jaehwan grows more and more irritated with every performance. 

Taekwoon will never admit it, but after two hours, his magic wanes. Jaehwan can tell by the slight sag in his shoulders, how he was quiet before but now looks barely present. His mother has not noticed. 

Taekwoon has drained two glasses of champagne despite hating champagne, so when he tries to reach for a third when a young man comes by, Jaehwan plucks the glass from his hand. “You need water.” 

Taekwoon smacks his lips, eyelids blinking slowly. “Thirsty,” he croaks. 

“Right, I know.” Jaehwan huffs. “I’ll get you something.” He starts to move away, and Taekwoon lurches to follow, but Jaehwan puts on an overly sweet smile and pours every bitter I-told-you-so into the words “No, you need to stay and entertain.” 

As if on cue, Miss Song calls for her son’s attention again, waving him closer from where he drifted away from the group, closer from where Jaehwan hung on the edge. Jaehwan takes the moment and leaves while Taekwoon is good as distracted. 

He scowls, placing Taekwoon’s full glass on a passing tray. He had not expected the night to be so abysmal. He pushes past people to get to the edge of the room where he had seen more food and drink on tiered displays, and there he takes two glasses of water, figuring Taekwoon will need both. Taekwoon is far from a lightweight, but the depletion of his magic mixed with the effects of alcohol are never a promising combination. He sighs.

On his way back to Taekwoon, he realizes two things. One: Taekwoon is now alone. And two: As Jaehwan draws closer, Jaehwan sees that he is not alone. Too short to be seen through the sea of people, it is only when Jaehwan is a few feet behind them does he notice the girl clutching Taekwoon’s arm and _playing with his hair_.

Jaehwan nearly shatters the glasses in his hands.

“My father,” she whines, twirling a piece of Taekwoon’s around her finger, “promised that you would show me a little magic. He promised.” She says the word “father” like a loaded weapon. Jaehwan does not care who “father” nor she is; he stomps over, spilling droplets of water over his hand. 

They face away from Jaehwan, not seeing his rapid approach, but Jaehwan sees Taekwoon’s rigid stance, blatantly leaning away from her as she edges closer to him, the fingers not in his hair digging into his sleeve.

Anger leaks into her voice as Taekwoon still has not given her what she wants. “What kind of wizard are you, then?” 

“Hey, handsy.” With the grace of someone more level-headed, Jaehwan transfers both glasses to one hand and uses his free hand to extricate the girl from Taekwoon’s side. “Back off. You mind?” 

The girl turns her eyes to Jaehwan, blinking several times. She gapes like a fish. 

Jaehwan takes advantage of her silence and snaps, “Have some manners, will you? He doesn’t have to show you shit.” He hands Taekwoon one of the glasses and sucks in a deep breath of air to keep from saying anything else. Instead, he throws an arm around Taekwoon’s shoulder to steer him away. He can feel Taekwoon’s rocketing pulse. 

Jaehwan directs them away from the girl and back to the tables of food and drink. Seats have been lined against the wall, and Taekwoon slips from underneath Jaehwan’s arm to sink into one. He melts into the chair as if all his bones have liquified. Jaehwan perches beside him, asking, “What the hell was that?” 

Taekwoon chooses that moment to take a long gulp of water. He gestures with the glass and croaks, “Thanks.” He straightens himself in the seat, but still sags against it. And to answer question, he admits, “I have no idea.”

Jaehwan drills his fingers against his knee, trying to push the girl out of mind. Although the pang of jealousy rings hollow in his heart, he is more upset _for_ Taekwoon. Along with avoiding social interactions, Taekwoon abhors the touch of strangers. He curls his fingers into fists. The girl––really, she did not seem much younger than him––has done it; Jaehwan can take no more. 

“We should just go home.” 

Taekwoon watches the water swirl in its glass, mulling over the proposition. Jaehwan can tell that he is ready to leave as well, but then his hopes are dashed when Taekwoon looks at him and says, “My mother––I have no idea where she is.”

Jaehwan shakes his head. “You should just leave. I can see that you’re exhausted. Who cares where she is––just go.” 

“Jaehwan.”

“I can tell you’re miserable. Please, Taekwoon, let’s go.” 

Jaehwan may have convinced him had Taekwoon’s mother not spotted them. Jaehwan curses to himself as she weaves around people, drawing closer and closer. “Well, there you are,” she says when close enough. She stands before Taekwoon, head tipped to the side. “Why did you leave the Choi’s daughter? I thought you were going to talk to her.” 

Jaehwan stares at Miss Song’s profile, and everything slides into place. He laughs out loud. 

Miss Song turns to Jaehwan, acknowledging him for the first time since she greeted him. “I am sorry,” she says, “Is there a problem?” 

“So is that all tonight has been?” Jaehwan laughs although he is far from happy. “Is he just another bargaining piece to you?”

Miss Song’s eyebrows shoot upward, Jaehwan’s words obviously taking her by surprise. “Hardly,” she says, a slight edge now detectable in her voice. “Tonight was to introduce my son to some of my friends and acquaintances. I do not understand how you think I have– have bargained my _son_.” 

Jaehwan, ready to retort, stops when Taekwoon lays a hand on his arm. He says it all with his eyes. _Don’t._

“Well, hello, am I interrupting something?” 

The trio snaps their heads to the person who has walked up to their congregation. Miss Song knows who he is, instantly replying with her kindest voice, “Not at all, not at all. Nigel, this is my son, Taekwoon.” 

Taekwoon stands to shake the blond skinny man’s hand, and the man claps Taekwoon on the shoulder. The man seems like a toothpick standing next to Taekwoon. Even through his tailored jacket and pants, Jaehwan see that the man is all angles. Nigel turns back to Miss Song, still holding onto Taekwoon’s hand. “Say, do you mind if I borrow him for a second?” 

Jaehwan feels a shout work its way up his throat. He wants to take Taekwoon and run from this place as fast as he can. Home––he wants them both to go home. 

“Of course, but not for too long,” Miss Song concedes. Jaehwan looks to Taekwoon, but he is already walking away with the man, not looking back once. Hurt curls in Jaehwan’s stomach as he watches Taekwoon leave. 

“I will be honest with you,” Miss Song says, calling for Jaehwan’s attention. Her eyes run up and down him, dragging over every line of his body. Jaehwan thought once Taekwoon left, she would too. She holds up a gloved hand. “I cannot make out what you are.” 

“I’m sorry?”

Her eyes lock on the V of his shirt again, her expression shifting as a smile curls her mouth. “When did you come across such a necklace?” 

Jaehwan looks down, seeing that the necklace is fully visible between the laces of his shirt. He curses internally, resisting the urge to push it back out of sight. “I…got it a few years ago.” 

“Really. What a coincidence that it matches my family’s crest.” She steps closer to Jaehwan, the fabric of her dress nearly brushing against his knees. She drops her voice, Jaehwan straining to hear her above the noise in the room. “Jealousy,” she intones, “is never a good look.” She pats his knee before backing up a step. “I will leave you to it, then. Enjoy your evening.” And she walks away. 

Jaehwan’s heart thunders in his chest, as if he has just stopped running. Enough––he has had enough. 

He pushes out of his seat, making a beeline for the exit. He shoves past people, their affronted voices blurring together. In the hall, servants chirp, “Leaving so soon?” He does not answer. Two servants hastily open the front doors for him, seeing that he really does mean to leave, and Jaehwan plunges into the cold night air. It does nothing to calm him. 

The procession of carriages are lined along the drive, but Jaehwan bypasses every one. He cannot remember which one drove them, and the last thing he wants to do is ask for a carriage from that woman. His shoes grind against the loose gravel. 

But he hears another pair behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to see Taekwoon, running to catch up with him. He scoffs under his breath, returning his eyes forward. “I’m going home.” 

Taekwoon is now at his shoulder, breathing hard. “I saw you leave. What’s wrong?” 

Jaehwan wants to blurt out what his mother said, but as he replays the conversation…. _“Jealousy isn’t a good look.”_ He shakes his head. Instead, he bites out, “I can’t take being there anymore. It’s unbearable.” 

“You don’t mean to walk home, do you?”

“Well, I did.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Taekwoon looks back at the carriages. “Here, I’ll find one.”

“Are you coming, too?”

Taekwoon blanches, eyes dropping. “Not yet.”

Jaehwan spins to fully face Taekwoon, gravel crunching under his heel. Both stand in the middle of the drive, both shivering. While Jaehwan came without one, Taekwoon neglected to grab his. Makes sense if he never meant to leave with Jaehwan. The small lanterns cast a glow that does not quite reach them, but the full moon, sliding out from behind the clouds, reveals both Taekwoon’s honesty and Jaehwan’s disappointment. 

“She’s using you, you know,” Jaehwan says, his tone as soft as he can manage. It sounds too loud in the night, like he has shouted it for all to hear. His jaw trembles. He grimaces, wishing he could put it any other way. “I meant what I said.”

“Jaehwan, I agreed to come tonight. I knew what it would be. These people like a little magic, and I can give it to them. Should I? No, but this is better than peddling potions.”

“I’m not talking about _you_ , Taekwoon. I’m talking about her.” Jaehwan’s voice shakes as he asks, “Do you really think she cares about you? She shows up, right after she finds out what you can do, so she can show you off to all her friends.” 

“Stop.” Taekwoon snarls. “Just stop.”

“But, Taekwoon––”

“I’m going inside.” 

“Fine.” Jaehwan draws himself up, all tenderness gone from his voice. “I’ll be leaving, then.” 

Taekwoon nods, lips pressed in a firm line. He steps back, but then hesitates. After a moment, he calls for a driver to bring Jaehwan home, and he waits and watches in the shadows as Jaehwan climbs inside the cabin of an available carriage. 

Jaehwan searches the shadows as the door closes, but he does not peer out the windows as the carriage jostles forward, as his friend disappears behind him.

 

Jaehwan pounds his fist against the bench’s velvet cushion. Repeatedly. He has been tossed into the ocean, his arms tied behind his back, expected to tread water while keeping his head above the surface. 

A wave of emotion rolls through him, and Jaehwan has to spend every bit of his focus to _not_ let his magic rip through the cabin. A part of him wants to. He would feel so much better if he did, but Kyungsoo, Heo, and Taekwoon’s voices all meld together in his head, forming one foreboding voice of self-control. 

He grinds his teeth together.

The whole night was bullshit, absolute bullshit. Jaehwan curls his fingers into the bench’s upholstery, whispering the sentiment to himself. His anger has nowhere to go, nowhere to escape; it travels on a circuit inside him, pulsing in waves. 

Song Jieun deserves the full brunt of it. The night had not assuaged any ideas Jaehwan had about her, just worsened them. She _has_ to know. She has to know how she pulls Taekwoon this way and that, how she takes advantage of his skill and his need to satisfy her. She has to. 

Jaehwan slams his palms against the seat. 

He cannot blame Taekwoon for wanting to latch onto his mother, but Jaehwan has never known the other to trust so blindly. Out of them, Taekwoon has always been the more at-arm’s-length sort, but perhaps in some ways Taekwoon is more naive than he thought.

Jaehwan startles as the carriage stops. He peers out the curtain to see his red-shuttered house. He steps out of the carriage, grunts a thank you to the driver, and skulks up the sidewalk to the porch and retrieves the spare key from underneath a loose floorboard. 

Jaehwan bangs into the house, and for once, the sound of the front door feels cathartic. He looks over his shoulder, seeing the carriage disappear down the street, and heaves a sigh. The look on Taekwoon’s face before he left––what will he say to him? _Sorry for ruining your hopes and dreams of having a mother. I wouldn’t know the feeling._

Jaehwan fumbles for the light. The darkness stretches on and on before him, masking all familiarity. Jaehwan slides his hand on the wall, cursing as he cannot find it. He almost resorts to using his magic when a creak from further inside has him pause. The house’s strange noises are common––it is an old home––but then Jaehwan notes the chill in the air is unusually severe for being inside. Goosebumps erupt over Jaehwan’s skin; his breath fogs in front of his face.

Something crashes, closer this time, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Jaehwan’s gut instinct tells him to move, to run, and he lunges to the side just as something whooshes past him. It crashes behind his back, sounding like wood splintering, and Jaehwan scrambles to get to his feet. 

The darkened living room, however, acts as his enemy. Jaehwan’s foot catches on the edge of the couch, and he goes sprawling. He rolls onto his back and throws his hands up, manifesting Chaos magic in his palms, shooting it above him.

He barely holds in his scream. 

As the magic makes contact, light casts over the demon, Jaehwan’s demon. Questions race through his mind. The demon should not be here; Wonsik warded the house; it should not have been able to enter. But the demon is very much here. Jaehwan notices it looks more material since the last encounter––stronger. 

He sends another blast at the demon, which propels it further back, and through all his fear, a thrill of excitement runs through him. His magic _works_. 

Jaehwan’s excitement is short-lived. 

Before he can hit the demon again, it vanishes into the darkness. The light from Jaehwan’s magic only offers minimal visibility, and with hands raised, he turns in circles to find where the demon has gone.

The house has fallen silent.

The demon collides with Jaehwan’s side, and before Jaehwan can drop to the floor, large claws latch into him and toss him upwards. Air whooshes under his feet. Jaehwan crashes into the floorboards with the breath knocked out of his lungs. He tries to get in a breath, but his ribcage spasms, leaving him croaking and gasping for air. He knows the large rents in his chest are bleeding.

_How could I think I could win? I was so stupid to think I could actually do it._

Jaehwan tries to sit up, but the demon stomps on his chest. Something cracks. Jaehwan screams this time.

_I will die here._

Jaehwan grabs the demon’s appendage, his fingers squishing around half-formed flesh and fat, and burns his magic into it. The demon howls but does not back away. It drops closer to Jaehwan, malice tangible, and with its long and twisted fingers, forces open Jaehwan’s clenched jaw, just like one would part the folds of a curtain.

And it lowers its mouth.

Jaehwan’s energy drains away. The fight in him falters, his hands dropping to twitch at his sides. The horrible darkness pulls him in, towards the never-ending free-fall. 

_That’s right. Just fall…._

Those thoughts. They are not Jaehwan’s. 

Jaehwan musters all he has to raise his hands once more. His will falters. So many thoughts circle his head telling him to give up, to give in, just succumb, but Jaehwan now knows those thoughts are the demon’s, not his own. 

He _cannot_ give up.

Jaehwan shoves his hands into the demon’s fleshy stomach and lets the Chaos magic rip through them. The barely-contained magic blazes between human and demon, and the demon immediately cuts off the connection with Jaehwan, weight dissipating as it cries in pain. Jaehwan rolls away, his mind clearer now but still foggy. His breath comes out ragged. He is losing blood.

The demon still screams somewhere behind Jaehwan. Jaehwan crawls across the floor, knowing he needs to get away. He has to escape somehow.

A horrible screech fills the room. Jaehwan wants to cover his ears but fights the urge in favor of continuing to pull himself across the floor. He cannot tell in which direction he crawls, only that it is away from the demon. Jaehwan grits his teeth. The screeching has not stopped, but–– He realizes then that it is a voice, repeating the same words over and over. “You cannot kill me.” 

Jaehwan comes up against a wall. He tries to pull himself up, using the wall for support. Partially standing, his hand searches for a light switch. He needs more light. The demon keeps repeating the same phrase, more and more frantic, and Jaehwan whimpers. It is hard to breathe.

Jaehwan’s fingers skitter over the edge of the switch, and he flips it. The light flickers on, spilling light from the kitchen out into the main room, offering a clearer view. The demon stands on just the other side of the couch, about eight feet away, twitching and writhing as it chants the same phrase. A slow high-pitched whine fills the air.

It laughs at him.

Jaehwan watches in horror as the demon’s fleshiness seems to transform into something smoother, more like skin, limbs shrinking, its outline re-shaping itself. The demon’s head, facing the floor, slowly looks upward, straight at Jaehwan, and Jaehwan’s blood runs cold.

The demon is him.

Or it _looks_ like him. The demon smiles too wide, teeth bared and lips stretched too harsh over them, a terrifying sight as it uses Jaehwan’s face to do so. It brings up a hand, and Jaehwan sees that the fingers are still too long, pointed and jagged at the ends, but the demon uses the hand to stroke down its face––his face. It quakes with unhinged laughter. 

Jaehwan tries to remember the start of the sending. He fumbles for the portal spell in his mind, but it is just out of reach. 

The demon points at Jaehwan, the long finger shaking. “You are dead.” Its voice sounds more human now, less like a cacophony of screams, but it still sound unnatural, like two metal grates grinding together. It then laughs and gestures at its face. “I will kill you and wear your skin proudly. I vow it.” 

Jaehwan knows he does not have much magic left in him thanks to the demon and his last outburst. Even if he can remember he portal spell, he will not have enough in him to call up the portal and send the demon. _Shit._

It steps closer, still smiling. “Giving up now will be much better for you. I will kill you and all who try to stop me. You call for help, and I will devour them.” 

Jaehwan has only one chance. His magic is near-gone, the risk of burning out high, but it will be much preferable to being tortured and killed by a demon. Jaehwan raises his hands, making his magic flicker in his palms, as if he cannot summon enough to defend himself. It has to believe him to be out of magic until the last moment….

The demon grows closer, the light of the kitchen showing that the demon’s skin is a sickly, pale shade. Like a walking corpse. Its eyes are so wide, the whites of its eyes––of Jaehwan’s eyes––are visible. 

Jaehwan flickers his magic again. 

The demon laughs, now at an arm’s-length, and leans in with its mouth open wide. 

Jaehwan launches himself at the demon, clinging to its body, and in the same moment, opens himself up like a copper conductor. Magic floods his body, coursing in and out of every pore. The demon howls again, and Jaehwan does too, body tearing itself apart from the exposure to raw element. Electric yellow energy crackles around them and through them.

The demon scrambles, trying to get away from Jaehwan, but the magic holds it in place, coursing between the two bodies. 

Jaehwan’s vision blooms with colors, head growing lighter and lighter. He needs to retract the magic before he kills his own self. He needs to….

As Jaehwan’s grip slackens, the demon wrenches free, crying and hissing, and vaporizes in a cloud of mist. 

Jaehwan hits the floor, magic still flowing out of him, a cup running over and over and over. He screams as the wild magic tears at his body. He clenches his fists, but the magic exits from all over his body. Beyond the exploding colors in his eyes, Jaehwan sees electric yellow bursts of magic leaping from his body. Magic crackles and hisses in his ears. He can smell something burning. 

Jaehwan’s eyes droop shut and all he sees is Taekwoon’s face. Taekwoon. Through the haze of pain, he latches onto the thought of his friend. The man has him in his arms, urging him, “Seal yourself off from the magic. Jaehwan, let go.” 

His numb body has forgotten how to do that, how to stop the magic. He shakes his head, but Taekwoon grips him tighter. “Jaehwan, you can do it.” 

Tears trickle from Jaehwan’s eyes. “I can’t,” he whimpers. He coughs, tasting the metallic tang of blood. 

The figment of Taekwoon grips him tighter, bruising him. “You must.” 

Jaehwan envisions something heavy, a– a concrete barrier to stop the stream of magic. His arms twitch at his sides. Darkness reaches for him. The vision of Taekwoon swirls in and out of focus as dark clouds obscure him. Jaehwan grits his teeth, grunting as he drags the barrier into place, slowly and agonizingly sealing himself off.

And then everything stops.


	8. Chapter 8

Taekwoon stops the carriage a block from reaching home. He climbs out, nodding to the driver, and sets off down the sidewalk. The full moon provides plenty of light, rendering the street lamps unneeded. 

His feet drag on the ground with every step he takes. Riding in the carriage stifled him, making him feel like a stoppered bottle shaken too much. Now, however, he is reminded just how tired he is, how much he aches to lay in his bed. 

He pulls his robe tighter around him. After watching Jaehwan’s carriage pull away, Taekwoon returned inside to search for his mother. Good impressions be damned. Guilt pulled at him for sending Jaehwan away alone, and he hated the look in his eyes. His mother was disappointed to see him go, wishing for him to stay longer, but Taekwoon stayed firm. He then retrieved his robe from a servant and found his own carriage.

But the carriage ride had done him no good to work off his ill feelings, so here he walks. 

The house comes into sight, and Taekwoon’s heart sinks as no lights seem to be on. Jaehwan must have gone to bed already; he doubts he is waiting inside the door to surprise him. The illness Taekwoon feels has not moved but settled into his chest. 

He sighs. He wants to talk about tonight. If only Jaehwan could understand his mother’s intentions…. Perhaps he is still awake. Perhaps Taekwoon can do exactly what Hakyeon has told him to do––talk to Jaehwan.

Taekwoon turns down their walkway when he freezes, the relief of being so close to home vanishing in an instant. The shadows of the porch do well to obscure the front door, disguising the fact that it is not entirely closed, a half-inch open, the wood splintered and ruined. 

Without thinking, Taekwoon surges forward. As he nears the house, over the thundering heartbeat in his ears, he hears a scream and shortly followed by the sound of shattering glass. Taekwoon slams his body into the front door, flinging it back so hard it cracks against the wall.

What greets him is the smell of something burning. Taekwoon’s eyes latch onto the kitchen light, and then the odd electrical sparks shooting into the air behind the couch. Taekwoon can barely tell. He slaps a hand out, the overhead light flickering on. 

He calls out, “Jaehwan?” The fear and panic overtake Taekwoon’s voice. He may have nearly expended himself at the party, but Taekwoon summons what little bit of magic he can manage. He lifts his hands just as he spots the trail of blood smeared over the floor. It leads behind the couch, to where the sparks are shooting…. 

Taekwoon marches forward. 

And stops dead in his tracks as he rounds the edge of the couch. 

Jaehwan lays sprawled on the floor, and what Taekwoon thought was electricity is _magic_ ––Jaehwan’s magic––exuding from every pore of his skin, bouncing in chaotic streaks around him. Taekwoon has never seen it like this. The magic singes the couch, the floor, even the ceiling. Anything it touches, it scorches. Without control, the magic destroys. 

Possibly worse are the two large tears in Jaehwan’s chest, blood soaking his white shirt.

Taekwoon runs to Jaehwan’s side and drops to his knees. The magic stings Taekwoon’s skin at first before turning into a burning sensation. The exposed parts of his skin turn red, and Taekwoon hisses. The fabric of his robe begin to smoke. 

Jaehwan’s eyes are shut, and Taekwoon would think him to be unconscious if not for the bend in his brow, the crinkle at the edge of his eyes. Jaehwan struggles to hang on. 

Taekwoon gathers Jaehwan into his arms, gasping as the pain fully envelops him. He has his friend cradled in his arms, his contorted face close to Taekwoon’s own. In Jaehwan’s, ear he says, “Seal yourself off from the magic.” Taekwoon pants from the effort. “Jaehwan, let go.” 

Taekwoon grips Jaehwan tighter. Maybe if he had not spent so much magic at the party then there would be something he could do for Jaehwan. “Jaehwan,” he urges, “you can do it.” Taekwoon has Jaehwan’s head in the crook of his arm and uses his free hand to wipe away the tears leaking from Jaehwan’s eyes. Pinpricks of blood leech across his skin from the heat of the magic. 

“I can’t,” Jaehwan confesses. His eyes are still shut. His lips are cracked and bloody, and his breaths comes much too shallow for Taekwoon’s liking. 

Taekwoon replies, his voice cracking at the end, “You must.”

And finally, _finally_ , the magic stops emanating from Jaehwan’s body. It stutters, withdrawing slowly, but withdrawing all the same. Taekwoon shudders, fear and relief mingling together, and Taekwoon allows himself to be relieved for a moment before allowing his next thought.

Jaehwan will bleed out.

Taekwoon lays Jaehwan flat on the floor and spreads his fingers over the other’s chest, pouring magic into the wounds. As much as he has been praised for his skill, healing magic is not his forte. He calls up what he does know and puts it to use. After a terrifying moment of nothingness, Jaehwan’s chest wounds finally start to knit back together. Slowly. 

He continues to pour in more magic and takes the chance to look around. It seems a full-on fight has taken place. Deep scratches mar the floorboards, chairs have been knocked over along with one of the end-tables near the couch. Scorch marks can be found near everywhere in the room. 

Taekwoon’s eyes return to Jaehwan to study him. Jaehwan’s pretty clothes have been burned from his magic, but also sliced as if a knife parted both cloth and skin. What happened? Taekwoon could not have been that far behind Jaehwan, but nevertheless something terrible took place while he was not here.

“Jaehwan,” he tries to say, but it comes out hoarse. He tries again. “Jaehwan, wake up.”

Taekwoon looks around him, eyes darting around the room. Whoever Jaehwan fought off could still be here, lurking just out of sight. Taekwoon readjusts his hands and shakes Jaehwan a little harder than intended.

Sweat beads on Taekwoon’s face, but as he watches Jaehwan’s chest wounds turn to thin cuts and the blisters dry before his eyes, Taekwoon knows he can hold on a bit longer. Taekwoon runs his magic all through Jaehwan, probing the bone in his chest that seems close to breaking, sending his magic out to find the rest of his injuries. And then he encounters something troubling. His magic brushes against something truly dark, a roiling mess of shadows. Inside…Jaehwan? 

A bead of sweat rolls down his cheek. Although he nears his limit, Taekwoon probes the darkness. It reacts by trying to latch onto him, causing Taekwoon to recoil but not to let go. Another wave of fear hits him. 

“Taekwoon?” Jaehwan’s eyelashes flutter, Taekwoon’s heart stuttering at the same time. He feels himself growing wearier, toeing closer and closer to the edge he just helped pull Jaehwan back from, and Taekwoon knows he must relinquish this connection, to withdraw his magic, but Jaehwan still needs help, and––

“What––” 

Jaehwan jerks away, forcing the connection to break. He scurries out of Taekwoon’s reach. “What did– What did you do?”

Taekwoon rests his hands on the floor, chest heaving, watching Jaehwan carefully. 

The other sits up, and a hand shoots to grip at his middle. He twists and rolls over onto his knees. “I– I might be sick.” 

“Breathe,” Taekwoon advises. “What’s wrong?”

Jaehwan shakes his head. “Nauseous,” is his spare reply. He pants, “You can’t––be here. Taekwoon, you need to––leave.” He then looks down at his hands, then at his chest. The blood-stained shirt and the paper-thin cuts on his chest are the only hint that he had been sliced open. He stares back at Taekwoon. “You used your magic on me?” 

“You’re welcome,” Taekwoon pants, lingering on Jaehwan’s accusatory tone. 

Jaehwan makes another face as he tries to get to his feet. “We need to leave––now.” He uses the couch to pull himself up, still clutching his stomach. 

“What?” Taekwoon clambers to his feet, his weakened legs causing him to almost stumble into Jaehwan. “Why? What’s going on?” 

Jaehwan closes the distance between them, putting his hands on Taekwoon’s shoulders. The expression he wears is so serious, so worrying to Taekwoon. Jaehwan stares into his eyes, looking as if he may say something, but then his gaze drops to the blisters on Taekwoon’s cheek and then his neck, and then to the holes in his robe. He bites his bottom lip, holding back. 

_Don’t hold back_ , Taekwoon wants to say. He asks, “Jaehwan, what happened? How were you using your magic like that?” 

The house creaks around them, and Jaehwan snaps out of his thoughts, looking panicked once more. “We need to go.” 

“What happened?” Frustration swells within Taekwoon, and he catches Jaehwan’s hands as he drops them. He hates the fear in his eyes. He hates that something happened while he was not here; he should have never let Jaehwan go alone. He should have been here with him. 

Jaehwan stares at the grip Taekwoon has on him, and meets his eyes. “Taekwoon, listen to me. All those times that you asked me to follow you, did I follow?” 

The words hit Taekwoon like a shock, but he nods. He knows where this is going. 

“Okay, so follow me this time.” 

He pauses for the briefest of seconds before saying, “I trust you.” For some reason, his words crack the serious composure of Jaehwan’s face, allowing Taekwoon to see a flicker of emotion behind it. But whatever it may be, Jaehwan quickly tucks the look away. 

Jaehwan nods to him and says, “Alright, then. Let’s go.” 

 

//

 

Personal space, at times, never really existed between Jaehwan and Taekwoon. Often, Taekwoon would latch onto Jaehwan for nothing, for no reason at all it seemed, except for maybe needing the closeness. As they walk down the sidewalk, Taekwoon glues himself to Jaehwan’s side, their fingers intertwined together. 

The gesture would have made Jaehwan’s heart flutter had he not been wearing his amulet, letting his magic flow through his body and into Taekwoon’s as it accumulates. The closeness serves a technical purpose; both are still drained and Jaehwan hates the idea of them both being defenseless should the demon attack again. 

Before leaving the house, Jaehwan hobbled up the stairs to grab his satchel holding his book of Chaos magic, to grab his coat, and to loop his amulet around his neck. When Taekwoon saw the amulet, he opened his mouth to ask, but then clamped it shut. A trickle of guilt accumulated in Jaehwan’s stomach. He deflected all of Taekwoon’s questions, refusing to answer them until they were somewhere else, and Taekwoon knew that asking about the amulet would earn him no answer. 

But…where is “safer”? Jaehwan scoffs to himself. He, of all people, can not guarantee they will find such a thing. 

Taekwoon’s shoulder occasionally knocks into Jaehwan’s. He sneaks a glance to see Taekwoon’s head slightly bowed, and the weak trickle of magic running between them is much too slow for Jaehwan’s liking. A shudder of fear passes through him as he thinks of what may have happened had Taekwoon been with him during the demon’s attack. Taekwoon, already drained from the party, would have been vulnerable. Even had they been able to fight off the demon together, Jaehwan still would not have recalled the words of the sending, and it still would have gotten away.

But Taekwoon, with his magic near depleted, helped Jaehwan. Had he run out of magic then, he would have been in the same state as Jaehwan, and that would have done them both a lot of good. Jaehwan wants to be more upset, but he cannot shake the fact that had he been in Taekwoon’s position, he would have done the same. 

Jaehwan’s frown deepens. 

“How much farther?” Taekwoon asks. 

“Not much.” Jaehwan does not voice that his directional skills may be shabby at best. He has only been to Seokjin’s apartment twice, and both times he and Seokjin spent the walk in conversation. Jaehwan had not been paying much attention to the surrounding area. But he fills himself with the false confidence that he can find his way. 

Seokjin, out of all his friends, lives the closest. That was Jaehwan’s one criteria in his panic of leaving the house. Would Seokjin accept Jaehwan and Taekwoon if they stood on his doorstep? Yes. Does Seokjin’s building have a phone that Jaehwan can use? Yes. Will Seokjin want to know every detail of what happened? Also yes. Jaehwan cringes at the thought of sharing his secret with him, but he has to take a chance. He and Taekwoon need somewhere to stay for the night. Hongbin lives farther away, Heeyeon has family that she lives with, and Kyungsoo is not even an option. 

Jaehwan clears his throat. “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine.” 

Jaehwan knows that means Taekwoon is doing better but far from fine. He grips Taekwoon’s hand tighter. “Almost there.” 

A pause. “When we get to this Seokjin person’s place,” Taekwoon mutters, “will you please tell me what’s going on?” 

Jaehwan bites his lip. He planned to do so already, but he hates the pleading in Taekwoon’s voice. He deserves it. For every lie that he has told, Jaehwan deserves whatever reaction Taekwoon will have. Jaehwan licks his lips. “I promise.” 

“Who’s Seokjin anyway?”

“A work friend. He’s nice.” 

Silence falls again between them. Any other topics of conversation either seem grossly out of place or what Jaehwan has deemed as “explain later.” Absently, he rubs the back of Taekwoon’s hand with his thumb. He mutters, “Thanks for healing me.” 

Taekwoon scoffs, as expected, and says, “Of course.” 

Relief floods into Jaehwan as he spies what he remembers to be Seokjin’s building, and he points it out to Taekwoon. “We’re close. Don’t worry.” 

Taekwoon nods and, if possible, tucks himself tighter to Jaehwan’s side. Jaehwan squeezes his hand again.

Jaehwan should really give Seokjin more credit. 

When his friend opens his apartment door to find Jaehwan standing in the hall with the broody friend he has heard oh-so-much of, Seokjin’s first response is to remark, “Holy hell,” and step aside to usher them in. Second, he leads them down the short hall, toward one of the back bedrooms for privacy’s sake. Seokjin lives with his boyfriend, and Jaehwan catches a glimpse of said boyfriend sitting on the couch, eyeing the party of three as they shuffle down the hall. 

“Sorry for dropping in,” Jaehwan tells Seokjin. 

Seokjin shoots a look to Taekwoon and then back to Jaehwan. He and Taekwoon look as if someone lit a firework next to them, and Jaehwan even has blood crusted on his clothes. Seokjin’s eyes linger on Taekwoon’s hand gripping Jaehwan’s, just now letting go as they file into the bedroom.

Seokjin and Jaehwan remain in the doorway, standing on either side, while Taekwoon collapses onto the bed. Seokjin leans in and asks Jaehwan, “Are you two okay?”

Jaehwan nods. “Now we are.” He bites his lip; he does not know how to tell Seokjin the next part.

“You rarely ask for favors or anything, Jaehwan.” Seokjin lays a hand on Jaehwan’s and tells him, “If you’re here, something must be wrong.” 

Jaehwan lowers his voice, jerking a thumb toward the living room. “Will he mind?”

“Yoongi?” Seokjin also lowers his voice. “He’s just a recluse by nature.” Seokjin pauses, eyes roving over Jaehwan’s face and taking in the freshly healed burns and then lowering to the amulet around his neck. “You’ll tell me what this is about, right?” 

“Yes.” The word feels numb in Jaehwan’s mouth, but he brought this upon himself. He trusted none of his friends with the truth and has paid the price for it. Taekwoon, however, will be the first to know. So Jaehwan nods, still speaking in a low tone. “First, though, Taekwoon and I need to talk. And then I’ll explain.”

“Okay, sure.” Seokjin pats Jaehwan’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “I’ll get some blankets and clothes if I can find them. I’ll leave them outside the door for you guys.” Seokjin darts one more look at Taekwoon before he leaves, and Jaehwan lets the door click shut behind him. 

The room feels too small for them both, or maybe what chokes him is the anxiety, pressing in on all sides. The truth is unavoidable, though. Jaehwan turns. Taekwoon has sit back up, perched on the edge of the made bed. His fingers brush the pink quilted coverlet. He looks ready to fall asleep where he sits, but his heavy gaze is trained on Jaehwan, eyelids blinking slowly.

Jaehwan sits beside Taekwoon, pauses, and then slides slightly closer. He asks again, “How’re you feeling?” 

“Tired. Sore.” 

“Could you…you try and heal yourself?” Jaehwan bites his lip, more guilt pooling inside him. 

“I’m not sure,” he snorts, weakly. “To tell you the truth, I’m absolutely shit at healing.” He fixes his eyes on Jaehwan’s chest, where his coat hangs slightly open to reveal the shredded and blood-stained fabric. “I barely managed whatever I did to you.”

“Do you need more magic?” Jaehwan tries to hand his amulet over, but Taekwoon waves it away.

“You keep it. Mine will be back in no time.” He flexes his fingers as if to hurry it along. Taekwoon’s eyes, however, linger on Jaehwan’s amulet, watching the little bit of yellow magic swirl in the stone. He presses his lips together, as if to stop the flood of questions from pouring out.

Jaehwan sighs. The words sour in his mouth. “Taekwoon, I need to talk to you.” At the other’s silence, he adds, “For real this time. I– I lied to you.” 

A long pause. Jaehwan can only stare at the burned holes in the knees of Taekwoon’s pants, his pale skin visible. They both smell like a fire pit, the smell of smoke pungent, but all Jaehwan wants to do is lean his head into Taekwoon’s shoulder and sleep for a year. He wants to curl up in a ball and not talk about anything. But he has to. He has to tell Taekwoon everything. 

“Lied about what?” 

Jaehwan squeezes his eyes shut and takes another deep breath––a breath before the plunge––and then he launches into a full story of events, barely stopping to breathe. He tells Taekwoon about wanting to impress his ex, summoning the demon, and how he lied about it already being sent. He tells Taekwoon that the demon attacked him tonight, for the third time, and despite Wonsik’s wards and protections, it was able to enter the house. 

And even though Taekwoon grows more and more rigid by the second, Jaehwan also confesses, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I could never find the right time, but I don’t work at the theatre anymore.” Jaehwan’s spew of words comes to a halt, not knowing how to go on. 

The break seems to be what Taekwoon needed, though, because he asks, “So where _do_ you work?” 

Jaehwan still cannot look at his face, still staring at Taekwoon’s knees. He answers, “Red Room.” 

Jaehwan had no idea how he expected Taekwoon to react, but his lack of one catches Jaehwan off-guard. Taekwoon just stares at his own hands, tense but saying nothing. Jaehwan can tell that the information is processing in Taekwoon’s head, that he sifts through it slowly, but Jaehwan still expected…something. 

Seconds tick by, and Jaehwan grows more anxious. “Please, say something. Anything?”

“Now you want me to talk?” 

Jaehwan watches as Taekwoon’s fingers curl into fists against the pink bedding, knuckles turning white. The older finally looks Jaehwan in the eyes, but the look is distant, like they are miles away from each other. 

Jaehwan’s voice comes out as a near-whisper. “Yes.”

Taekwoon swallows. “I knew you were hiding something, but,” he swallows again, “I never thought it’d be so much.” 

“I’m sorry––”

“Are you, though?” Taekwoon’s voice gains more strength as gravel empties into it. “Or are you sorry that you’re now having to tell me?” 

“I _am_ sorry. I never meant to keep lying to you.” 

Taekwoon stands and walks across the room to the window. He leans against the wall, arms folded, watching Jaehwan from where he stands. He admits, “Before you came back, I was miserable. I didn’t know where you were; I didn’t even know _who_ you were.” Taekwoon rubs a hand over his forehead. “And now it’s the same, but you’ve lied to me. This whole time, you’ve been lying.” 

“I’m still the same person.”

“That’s not the point; you’ve lied about everything.” Now unleashed, Taekwoon’s anger cuts like a serrated knife. “I’ve thought you’ve been at the theatre near every night, but now you’ve actually been somewhere else. The demon,” he hisses, “is still out there.”

“You’re not the easiest to talk to.” Jaehwan cringes even as the words leave his mouth. 

“You couldn’t let me know you changed jobs? You told me the demon was gone, but now I find out that it’s far from being gone; it attacked you tonight. In our house. Heo’s house.” Taekwoon does not raise his voice but he may as well be yelling. His disappointment hammers the words home in Jaehwan’s chest.

Taekwoon’s eyes flash. “If you had been attacked anywhere else tonight––anywhere else––I wouldn’t have known. You would’ve burned out _alone_.”

Jaehwan jumps up, hands clenched at his sides. Somewhere inside he knows he has no right to be angry as he kept all this from Taekwoon for months, but shame spurs him on. “Yeah, I know,” he grinds out. “I fucked everything up. Just like I always fuck it up.” 

“I’m just trying to understand––”

“Understand?” Jaehwan scoffs. “Then understand that maybe I didn’t want to involve you in it because it’s my problem. I was trying to handle it, and looking back, it’s stupid to think I could. Taekwoon, I didn’t tell you because you’d want to get involved, and for once in my life––for once––I wanted to say that I handled something myself.” 

Taekwoon clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides. He casts his eyes to the carpet. Not even he can deny what Jaehwan claims. 

“So,” Jaehwan continues, barely holding himself together. “I’m sorry for wanting to keep you safe. I’m sorry I lied to you and kept lying to you because I wanted you to think that– that I’m better than I am.” 

Jaehwan drops down onto the bed, putting his head in his hands. He feels so stupid and useless and…and…. The tears rise to his eyes, and Jaehwan firms his jaw, forcing them back, but then the image of the demon wearing his face comes to mind, smiling at him, and Jaehwan’s resolve breaks. 

The tears run down his face, pooling in his palms and dripping off his chin. He does his best to hold in his sobs, but there is no way to pretend that he is okay. He endangered not only himself, but also Taekwoon. The demon was able to cross all the barriers Jaehwan had put in place. He so badly wanted to be able to take care of the problem himself, but in doing so, he created something bigger, something more terrible. 

He damaged his relationship with Taekwoon. 

The bed dips beside Jaehwan. He ponders getting up and slinking away, but then Taekwoon’s arm comes around his shoulders, pulling Jaehwan into his chest. 

“I– I’ve–” Jaehwan sobs, “m– messed ev– everything up.” 

Taekwoon says nothing, rubbing at his back. Jaehwan pulls his hands away from his face, wiping them on his pants before burying himself in Taekwoon’s shoulder. The smell of smoke burns his nose, and Jaehwan cries harder. “I’m sorry,” he says again and again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you––not tonight and not ever. I’m s– sorry.” 

Something wet hits the top of Jaehwan’s hair, and he looks up just as he feels a tremor pass through Taekwoon. Jaehwan blinks, shaking in the older man’s arms. Similar tears leak out the corners of Taekwoon’s eyes, quietly falling, and this shocks Jaehwan into silence. Jaehwan sniffs, hyper-focused on Taekwoon now. He takes his thumb and brushes a tear from Taekwoon’s cheek. “Why– Why are _you_ crying?”

Taekwoon ducks his head away, but Jaehwan twists his body, inching even closer and cupping Taekwoon’s cheek in his palm. He gently turns Taekwoon’s face toward his own, and whispers, “Hey, what’s going on?” 

Taekwoon’s lower lip trembles, and he cannot quite meet Jaehwan’s eyes, but he confesses, “I’ve wanted…to talk to you for so long––so long, Jaehwan. I’m sick of…fighting.” Taekwoon lowers his head to Jaehwan’s shoulder, Jaehwan moving his hand to the back of Taekwoon’s neck. “I don’t want you to cry.” 

“Well….” Jaehwan sniffs again, pulling himself back together. “We should talk, then.” He says it into the mess of Taekwoon’s hair, wild from tonight’s events. “We should talk and– and hear each other out.” 

Taekwoon picks his head up, Jaehwan dropping his hand but not moving. Taekwoon’s face is close, his wet eyelashes clumped together, cheeks red from crying. Practically in each other’s laps, Jaehwan knows they are much closer than considered friendly but cannot find it in himself to pull away.

Jaehwan wipes another tear from Taekwoon’s cheek. Despite wanting to keep each other from being hurt, they have done it to each other. He sucks his lip between his teeth. “Sorry,” he whispers again. “I didn’t want you to cry.” 

“Stop saying sorry,” Taekwoon chides, a shade of his normal self. 

“Sorry.” 

Taekwoon puts his palm on the top of Jaehwan’s head, and Jaehwan braces for the older to ruffle his hair. Taekwoon, instead, pushes Jaehwan into his chest. 

Taekwoon circles his arms around him, and Jaehwan’s eyes widen slightly before letting himself melt into Taekwoon’s embrace. Taekwoon nestles his head in the crook between Jaehwan’s shoulder and neck, causing a smile to crack Jaehwan’s teary face.

For the first time tonight, Jaehwan finally feels as if something has gone right. 

 

An hour later finds Jaehwan and Taekwoon sitting side-by-side on the bed, clean and warm. They have their backs to the headboard, sitting atop the coverlet, Jaehwan with his knees pulled into his chest, and Taekwoon with his legs sprawled out. 

They each took their showers in record time, and while Taekwoon took his, Jaehwan found Seokjin in the kitchen, boyfriend nowhere to be seen, and managed to give a rough account of the night. Seokjin’s eyes doubled their size at certain parts of the story, but he kept questions to a minimum, saving them for the end. As a final question, Seokjin asked, “So, are you and Taekwoon good now?”

And Jaehwan answered, “Close.” He did not mention the tears nor the fact that his insides roiled at the thought of a heart-to-heart. “We have, uh, more stuff to sort out.” He peered down the hallway as he heard the shower cut off.

Seokjin, busy cutting fruit, jabbed a piece with his knife. “So, best friends, huh?” He ate the fruit from the tip of the knife, eyes on Jaehwan the whole time. “Is that what the kids call it these days?”

Jaehwan’s face was beet-red when he left kitchen, bowl of fruit in hand. 

Taekwoon currently plucks a piece of melon from the bowl as Jaehwan settles beside him. “It was nice of your friend to let us stay the night. And give us food.” He takes another piece. 

Jaehwan lets out a small laugh, trying to banish the image of Seokjin from his mind. Had Seokjin not teased him, he may have actually believed himself when he says, “Yeah, it was. He’s really great.” 

Jaehwan tips his head back against the headboard. Even though he feels more awake now, his body is heavy, still aching from earlier. But he cannot sleep yet. He and Taekwoon promised to talk more, but now that the moment is over, Jaehwan does not know how to restart the conversation.

Taekwoon shakes his wet hair over his shoulder and says around a piece of melon, “So. You said that it’s hard for you to talk to me. Should we start there?” 

They should. They should start there. Jaehwan exhales a breath. And another. He looks sidelong at Taekwoon who has found his too-short pant legs interesting. “I know I suggested this, but since I’m being honest and all, I’ll just say that this is hard for me.” 

Taekwoon tucks his long hair behind his ear, putting the bowl of fruit in Jaehwan’s lap as he changes to sitting cross-legged. He rubs a finger over his lip, thinking. 

Jaehwan continues. “It hasn’t always been hard for me.” 

“It used to be easy to know what you were thinking.” The edge of Taekwoon’s mouth curls up. “I had the worst time figuring you out when we were really little, but once I got it, I felt like I always knew.” He pauses. “Or you’d tell me.” 

“I don’t know when that changed.” Jaehwan picks up a strawberry, squeezing slightly and staring at the juice dripping onto his fingers. “If I tell you something, you swear it won’t hurt your feelings?” 

Silence. Then Taekwoon says, “It’ll hurt, but I need to know. Exploding at each other hurts worse, I think.” 

“You’re right.” Jaehwan puts the strawberry down. He observes once again that the room is too small, that there is nowhere to run. He takes another deep breath and says in a rush, “I think––and I don’t blame you at all––but at some point you started assuming what I wanted. And, I don’t know, it felt different to me.” 

“Different how?

Jaehwan sighs. “I just….” 

“It’s alright.” 

“You were always good at magic. You never struggled with it, and I mean, I was a disaster. When we were little, I was alright being in your shadow, but once Heo took us in, I don’t know. Something changed.” Jaehwan glances at Taekwoon.

Taekwoon’s eyebrows have shot up on his forehead. “In my shadow,” he repeats, hollowly. “You. In _my_ shadow.” 

“Now you’re making me feel stupid.” 

“No, it’s just that….” Taekwoon searches for words, eyebrows still sky high. He stares upward like his words will be carved into the popcorn ceiling. “I never saw it that way. If there was any shadow, it was because I had two years of height on you.”

The last thing Jaehwan expected was for Taekwoon to try a _joke_ , but here they are. “Ha. Ha.” He swats at Taekwoon’s arm, but it would be a lie if he said that Taekwoon’s astonishment did not help him feel better. Emboldened, Jaehwan continues. “You were always taking care of me, so I felt like– like I had to repay that debt somehow. And then,” he swallows, “you sent me to school when I didn’t want to go.” 

Taekwoon’s smile drops.

Jaehwan looks away, shrugging. “I mean, I met Hongbin. It wasn’t all bad. But,” Jaehwan shrugs again, “I was practically sent away. I didn’t like it.” 

“I didn’t know that you– you hated it so much.”

“You were paying for it. What was I going to do? Be ungrateful?” 

Taekwoon runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was sending you away.”

“I know that.”

“I just thought––” he blanches and then restarts. “Well, I guess this is what you’re getting at, but in my mind, I screwed up school for you.” Taekwoon pauses, and Jaehwan waits patiently, knowing that in his head he is piecing the rest together. In his soft voice, he explains, “I felt horrible for getting you mixed up in that Lovely Street magic school. We both came out of there without anything, and I knew I could use my magic for something, but I knew that you would have a harder time.

“When Heo and I went out into the city, I used to see kids our age doing anything they could to survive.” Taekwoon finally looks back at Jaehwan, eyes hard. “I was never sure what our situation with Heo would be, even after he he let us stay. I tried and tried to find something wrong with him. I was prepared for him to be a creep, and I wouldn’t have hesitated to find somewhere else to stay. But you still couldn’t use magic and had no schooling.” Taekwoon smiles sadly. “I should have asked, but me back then wouldn’t have liked ‘no’ as an answer. And I’m sorry for that.” 

Jaehwan nods. He barely remembered the first few weeks at Heo’s, just a handful of memories pertaining to Yeonju, but to think that younger Taekwoon had been primed to leave for weeks unsettles him. It speaks volumes to the way he is. 

“Thanks,” Jaehwan says, rubbing at the back of his head. “I might’ve been fine with school if the whole thing hadn’t made me feel so useless.”

“I hated it when you left.” 

Jaehwan, about to finally eat his strawberry, feels it slip from his fingers and land back in the bowl. “Oh?” is the only sound he can manage in response to the sudden confession. Had he heard Taekwoon right?

The hallway creaks with Seokjin’s approaching footsteps, and both Taekwoon and Jaehwan fall silent. Jaehwan hears Seokjin open the door across from theirs, calling softly to his boyfriend before shutting the door behind him. Jaehwan’s heart pangs.

It is impossible to tell if Taekwoon thinks the moment is as cute as Jaehwan thinks it is, his face remaining placid. He has his hair twirled around his own finger, much in the same way the girl from the party had played with it. Jaehwan’s jealousy comes prickling back. He clears his throat. “You mean to say that Heo wasn’t as exciting of a conversationalist as me?”

Taekwoon cracks a smile, but the wistful look in his eyes remains. “The house would be so quiet. The only time it wouldn’t be was when Yeonju was around. She’d dance in the kitchen and sing, but it’d just remind me of you.” 

Taekwoon rolls his eyes as he remembers a different memory. “And all the other days I’d be trapped with Heo, and he’d fuss at me for everything. ‘Your form’s bad; is this really what I taught you?’” Taekwoon poorly mimics Heo’s gravelly voice, but it gets a laugh out of Jaehwan regardless. “Then you’d come home, and Heo would let up some. I’d finally get to see you, and you’d tell me every little detail of your days up there, and I was happy that you were happy––or seemed so, I guess. But I also felt…resentful. You had Hongbin for a friend. You made everything sound so fun.”

Hesitantly, Jaehwan asks, “Did you want to go to school?” 

“Yeah.” Taekwoon reaches over and grabs another slice of melon. “But if it could be just one of us, I thought it should be you.” 

“Man, I feel like an asshole.” 

“Don’t. One of us has to know how to do math, and I certainly can’t.” Taekwoon’s smile has not yet dimmed, and Jaehwan feels his own rise up. 

“Should I tutor you, then?”

“You can certainly try.”

Jaehwan blurts out, “Alright, your turn. State your grievances.” He hands Taekwoon the fruit bowl, not wanting to hold it any longer. “Lay it on me.”

“The not-talking thing.” Taekwoon shrugs, searching the bowl for more melon. “But we’re talking now.” 

“No, something else. There has to be something.” 

Taekwoon pushes fruit around for a bit longer before saying, “When you came back, you told me it wasn’t because of me that you left. Was that true?”

Jaehwan’s mind rewinds back to the fake-vampire girl wrapping her arms around Taekwoon’s waist. His voice goes up in pitch when he answers, “True.” 

“Okay.” Taekwoon fidgets on the bed. “Like I said, if you ever need to go again––not that I want you to––but if you do, please, tell me. I’ll give you space. I swear, I will. But if you drop off the face of the earth, I can’t deal with that.” 

Taekwoon stops pretending to look for fruit, and he sets the bowl on the nightstand. He rubs his palms on the knees of his pajamas and licks his lips. “Jaehwan, you…. I know you said this wasn’t easy for you, but me neither. I think the only reason I’ve been able to do this is because I really, _really_ never want us to go back to not speaking. You mean so much to me. You have to know that.”

Taekwoon takes one of Jaehwan’s hands. “I’m….” He looks into Jaehwan’s eyes, and Jaehwan can see that he’s on the edge of something, about to fall, and Jaehwan’s heartbeat picks up. He can feel himself leaning closer. Taekwoon licks his lips again. “Jaehwan, you’re my best friend.” 

Taekwoon says it with such conviction that Jaehwan should believe that was what he meant to say. Jaehwan scolds himself; what else was Taekwoon supposed to say? He supposes he waits a beat too long, but he returns the sentiment with, “I don’t mean to steal your moment, but you’re mine too.” Taekwoon laughs, and Jaehwan thinks his own hopes got the better of him. That is all it was. 

Taekwoon squeezes his hand and lets go. 

“I had to say that before I asked you about the magic.” 

Jaehwan blinks. Right. The magic. 

“How is it that you’ve never showed more than an inkling of any magic in your entire life and suddenly I’m rescuing you from burn-out?” Taekwoon looks at Jaehwan’s hands as if they are the culprits. “I know you can use a bit, but…you could never apply it to anything.” 

Jaehwan thinks for a moment, drilling his fingers into his thighs. “Whatever I say or show you, can you promise to keep an open-mind?” 

“It’s open.” 

“A little wider, then.” 

“Jaehwan, what are you––”

Jaehwan does not wait for Taekwoon to finish. He opens his palms, twin yellow lights bursting from his skin. But these are not the small bits of magic that Taekwoon is used to seeing. They bounce erratic in the air, Taekwoon flinching away, but watching the whole time. The lights bounce around the room, twirling around Jaehwan as he giggles, before fizzing out. Jaehwan shrugs. “That’s about all I can manage right now with the magic I have, but I can do more.”

Taekwoon raises an eyebrow at Jaehwan. “I’m all ears.” 

So Jaehwan retells the story Kyungsoo told him. He can tell that Taekwoon wants to refute it, especially once Chaos magic comes into focus, but he listens to what Jaehwan has to say. At the end of his story, Jaehwan jumps up from the bed, climbing over Taekwoon to stand in the middle of the room. He flings his hands out. “This whole time I thought it was a mistake, but it’s true; I do have magic inside me.” 

Taekwoon’s stare is not directed to any specific part of Jaehwan, just running up and down his figure. This would have caused a flush to rise to Jaehwan’s face had it been anything but clinical. Jaehwan can tell that in his head Taekwoon is working through all the information, balancing Jaehwan’s story with the ones he has been fed throughout his lifetime. 

Then, Taekwoon flicks his first two fingers. Grapes from the fruit bowl fly at Jaehwan, and on instinct, Jaehwan bats his hand in front of his face. Three short _pops_ fill the room, and something wet splatters Jaehwan’s cheek. He had not meant to use his magic, but when he opens his eyes, he can see it swirling around his hand.

When he lowers his arm, he sees Taekwoon’s widened eyes, his mouth held agape. 

Jaehwan’s arm missed the grapes, but his magic did not. The three grapes exploded mid-air, their mush falling to the carpet. Jaehwan shoots Taekwoon a sheepish look. “I’m learning, okay?”

Taekwoon glances between the grape-mush and Jaehwan. Jaehwan clears his throat, bending down to clean up the grapes. “I know,” he says, “that you’ve been taught something different––that Chaos is something to beware of. I’m not asking you to throw out everything you know. I’m asking that you look at it from another angle.” 

At first, Jaehwan thinks Taekwoon means to refuse. The slight bend in his brow and the way he stares at his knees is only a hint at his inner thoughts, and tonight has indicated that neither knows what the other thinks. Taekwoon, however, says, “I’ll try.”

Relief flows through Jaehwan, and he exhales a long-held breath. He takes a step forward. “Taekwoon, you….” he trails off as darkness swims in his vision. The feeling he equated with relief is the blood draining from his face. His body tips forward. 

“Jaehwan!” 

Someone must have strapped weights to his limbs. Heavy––so heavy. Jaehwan tries to get his second foot under him to no avail. He does not feel himself hit the carpet. Black and white patterns dance in his eyes. His body feels numb…

But then the burning in his stomach comes back. The hot knife plunges deeper and deeper. He clutches at his middle, gasping. 

“Jaehwan, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

Jaehwan thinks that may be Taekwoon’s face looming over his own. He pants, “Stomach. Burns.” 

“Keep talking,” Taekwoon begs. 

“’M tired.” Jaehwan tries to lift his arm. He blinks, but his sight narrows like he is looking down a dark tunnel. “It’s the demon. Taekwoon, it’s the demon.” 

“Keep talking to me.”

“I– I– My energy. It’s taking it. Something.” His words slur. Eyelids droop more and more. “Taekwoon, I….”

Then as quickly as the world faded away, it blossoms with feeling. Taekwoon’s hair tickles Jaehwan where it touches his face. Tingles light up his extremities as his senses return, color leaking back into Jaehwan’s vision. 

Taekwoon is inches from Jaehwan’s face, staring deep into his eyes. Once again, Jaehwan has found himself in Taekwoon’s lap tonight. Despite the fear plaguing him, he laughs. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. No, actually, that’s a lie.” Jaehwan glances down to see that the hem of his nightshirt shirt has been pulled up slightly, Taekwoon’s hand touching the bare skin of his stomach. Taekwoon’s sapphire-colored magic seeps into his skin. Fingers cold, magic colder. “What are you doing?” 

“How do you feel?”

“Better than before.” 

Taekwoon’s face is tight. “I still don’t have much magic, but I’m laying down protections against the demon.” He sucks in a breath. “Along with healing, it’s another thing I’m not great at.”

“You’re wonderful. If you weren’t here, where would I be?”

The thought hangs uncomfortably between them, and Taekwoon shakes his head. “Okay, okay. You’re delirious.”

Jaehwan feels his mouth moving a mile a minute. “No, really. Anything at this point is helpful. You could sell me a lock of your hair for good luck, and I’d buy it.”

“You really think that I’d charge you?”

Taekwoon’s smile, which had been rising, falters as Jaehwan winces. Something _twists_ inside him. “You’re right,” he gasps. “You’d charge me double.” He reaches down to grab Taekwoon’s wrist. “That hurts.” 

“It hurts?”

“Not a lot, but yeah.” 

Taekwoon leans in closer, adjusting the arm around Jaehwan’s neck. “Back at the house, when I tried to heal you, I sensed something.”

“Sensed what?”

“Do you think you can stand?” 

Jaehwan half-heartedly separates himself from Taekwoon, the magic dissipating. Taekwoon holds onto his bicep as they both get to their feet, letting go once sure that Jaehwan can stand on his own. 

Taekwoon asks, “When the demon attacks, what’s it like?”

A wave of sensations crashes over Jaehwan. Falling into darkness. His bones growing heavy. Touching death. A shiver runs down his spine. “It’s like being sucked into a hole,” he describes. “You try and stop yourself, but there’s nothing to latch on to.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“The demon puts its mouth to mine, and it takes something from me.” Jaehwan chances a glance at Taekwoon who looks puzzled at his description. “I always feel tired afterward, and my stomach hurts terribly.” 

Taekwoon rubs a finger against his chin. “Sit on the bed,” he directs. Jaehwan sits, sliding far enough over so Taekwoon can sit as well. He prefaces, “I’ll remind you that this isn’t my area of expertise, so take what I say with a grain of salt. But when I was healing you, I sensed a…darkness from within.”

The black sludge. Jaehwan recalls the first attack, when the black sludge spilled out of his mouth, landing in the grass. Wonsik and Sanghyuk mentioned the demon forming “an anchor” to latch onto Jaehwan, but the wards and talismans were meant to protect against it. Well, those wards and talismans proved to be useless. Jaehwan thought the expellant the exorcists fed him was meant to purge his body of the demon’s effects…. 

“You’re not lying?”

Taekwoon’s solemn nod is of no comfort. 

Slightly panicked, Jaehwan asks, “You didn’t think to tell me sooner?”

Taekwoon scowls. “You weren’t telling me anything, Jaehwan; I thought maybe you knew already.” He posits, “It emanated from the spot you say troubles you. I think it may be connected with what just happened.” Jaehwan describes what the exorcists said about the demon anchoring itself to Jaehwan, and Taekwoon hums to himself, staring at Jaehwan’s ribcage. “I wonder…. Has the demon grown stronger with each attack?”

Jaehwan nods.

“And it successfully manages to attack you in the same way? Every time?”

He nods again.

Taekwoon flexes his fingers, little rivulets of blue light twisting between them. He asks, “Do you mind lifting your shirt?” 

After everything Jaehwan has been through tonight, Taekwoon’s request should only seem like a mild nuisance, but Jaehwan’s self-conscious tendencies kick into gear. He flushes, ears growing hot. “Why?”

“I just want to see if there’s any visible marks.” 

“Well, why don’t I tell you?”

“I was going to probe it again to see if it outwardly reacts.” Taekwoon must realize his curiosity might inconvenience Jaehwan more than he means to and hastily adds, “But I don’t have to.” He scratches his cheek, eyes cast downward. “I just don’t know what it is.” 

Jaehwan huffs a sigh. Taekwoon already felt all under his shirt anyway. He bites the inside of his cheek, weighing his well-being over his self-consciousness.“Okay, fine.” 

“Well, I don’t want you to feel weird––”

“I’m not weird.” 

“I take it back; you don’t have to––”

“Can you please check to make sure I’m not demon-possessed or something?” Jaehwan’s tone climbs higher, though he does his best to keep his panic in check. He holds his breath as he yanks the nightshirt over his head in one swift movement. He fixes his bangs, busying his fingers with _something_ , purposefully not looking at Taekwoon. He resists the intense urge to fold his arms over himself. 

Taekwoon leans in closer, closer to the soft curve of Jaehwan’s stomach, to his lack of defined muscles. Time and time again Jaehwan has convinced himself he has nothing to be ashamed of, but the little voice in his head does its best to undercut his acceptance. Jaehwan swallows hard, trying to empty his mind of all thoughts. 

Taekwoon holds out both of his hands, Jaehwan hesitating only slightly before taking them. “Will it hurt?”

“I can’t promise that.” Taekwoon’s eyes trail upward before they reach Jaehwan’s eyes. “But tell me if it does.” Taekwoon’s magic flutters around their conjoined hands. Jaehwan squeezes his eyes shut, anticipating the feeling of it sliding underneath his skin, but then Taekwoon belatedly says, “And you look fine. By the way.”

“Taekwoon, _please_ , hurry.” 

“Right, sorry.”

If there was any doubt that he was blushing before, Jaehwan definitely is now. He keeps his eyes shut so he will not have to look Taekwoon in the face, and he nearly misses the sensation of Taekwoon’s magic flowing into him. 

“You see anything?” Taekwoon neglects to answer him, and Jaehwan cracks open one eye. A furrow has developed between the other’s brow. “What is it?”

“Stop pestering,” Taekwoon hisses.

Jaehwan shuts his eye and grips Taekwoon’s hands harder. Patience may be a virtue, but in this moment, Jaehwan finds it hard to keep his thoughts to himself, to wait for whatever Taekwoon might tell him. 

“Does that hurt?”

“No,” Jaehwan replies. “I don’t feel anything.” A few moments pass with nothing else said. The urge to peek becomes overwhelming. Jaehwan is about to open his eye again, when pain, a duller version what he felt earlier, flourishes inside him. “That,” Jaehwan croaks. “I felt that.”

He opens his eyes to see Taekwoon’s eyes glued to his stomach. Jaehwan looks down to see a brand emblazoned on his skin, framed by the parting of his ribcage. Three criss-crossing lines––almost like scratches. Even as Jaehwan watches, the bright red mark fades just as the pain does. Jaehwan looks back to Taekwoon but the other looks only alarmed. 

Taekwoon has not let go of Jaehwan’s hands, although he stoppered his magic. “Earlier, I put a block on outside magical influences because I thought it may stop the demon from doing whatever it does to you. The downside is that it obstructs your ability to use magic as well.” Taekwoon works his jaw. “Like I said, I’m not the best at this.”

Jaehwan nods. “I need to go see Kyungsoo. In the morning, I’ll go.”

“I’ll go with you.” Taekwoon squeezes his hands tighter. “I don’t know what this anchor is, so I’m not sure if I’ve fully stopped the demon or not. We’ll have to see what happens.”

Jaehwan swallows heavily. “Perfect.”

Taekwoon’s unwavering gaze holds Jaehwan in place. His hair has come untucked from his ears, and if Jaehwan had free hands, he would tuck the pieces back into place. But then he remembers himself and makes himself promise not to. There are a dozen personal lines that Jaehwan has crossed tonight, and the sooner he drags himself back to his own boundaries, the better. 

Taekwoon still has not looked away. Jaehwan thinks he might want to mention that one of them is still shirtless and chilly and dealing with the loudest voice of all––his inner saboteur––but then Taekwoon states, “Never suffer alone. Please.” Taekwoon loosens his grip only to tighten it again, as if not yet satisfied. “I don’t believe in repaid debts––not between you and I.” 

“So friends are allowed to take whatever they want from you?” Jaehwan’s laugh is slightly off-kilter, petering out as Taekwoon does not laugh with him. Taekwoon somehow seems dissatisfied, but Jaehwan cannot pin why. 

“I don’t keep score,” is the short answer. Taekwoon licks his lips. “Even if you think you owe me something, you’ve given me more than you know.” 

Jaehwan wants so badly to refute him. “Sure,” he half-heartedly says. “My positive attitude and lack of any skillset really helped us out when we were on the street.” 

“One day you’ll see your own value. I know it.” 

Something odd passes between them then. Goosebumps travel up Jaehwan’s skin, his extremities hyper-aware of the moment. The way Taekwoon looks at him and only him teeters Jaehwan closer and closer to doing something he will definitely regret when he is not so tired, when the hour is not so late, when the daylight shines on him and will inevitably highlight all of his shortcomings. 

Jaehwan could kiss him. He would kiss him if he was someone else who valued his own self more than his friendship. Sure he has mistreated that friendship in the past, but it was never with the intention of destroying it. No, Jaehwan wanted to preserve it. Kissing Taekwoon would unravel the whole thing. 

Quietly, Jaehwan reminds, “I need my shirt.”

Taekwoon releases him, and the moment is dispelled––gone. Jaehwan grabs blindly behind him for his shirt. 

Taekwoon only had Hongbin and perhaps Hakyeon to count as friends and the list of his lovers only has one entry. Jaehwan blames the intensity of the moment on his own vulnerability mixed with Taekwoon’s characteristic earnestness, made more lethal by his lack of experience. Better to get clothed, better to sleep, before Jaehwan misreads anything else.

Jaehwan tugs the shirt over his head and crawls under the bed covers. “We might want to get some form of sleep tonight.”

Taekwoon sits still, almost like he did not hear Jaehwan, before he pads across the room to snatch a blanket that Seokjin had left for them. Instead of joining Jaehwan under the covers, he lays on top of them, draping the blanket over himself. “Goodnight,” he says. Something unsaid hangs in the air, but then the lamp clicks off, and Jaehwan convinces himself that he imagined that as well. 

Jaehwan stares at the ceiling, wondering how he thought he could sleep with Taekwoon lying beside him. He rolls onto his side, away from Taekwoon, whispering back, “Goodnight.”

But now that he is ready, sleep does not want him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- i'm really sorry this is taking longer to finish than expected,, we hit a few snags, folks  
> \- hope everyone has a great weekend♡


	9. Chapter 9

The scent of unwashed bodies and spoiled trash assaults Taekwoon’s nose. He wrinkles his nose against it, refraining from burying his nose in the collar of his cloak. He has never had much reason to leave New Haven, thus no reason to board a train. All the times Jaehwan came home from school, Taekwoon would sometimes wait in the station but at a safe distance, staring at the steel husks that shuddered and emitted steam. 

The half-full train car’s main offense is that it is a train venturing to a place Taekwoon has never been before. Aside from the smell, Taekwoon can find no other fault with it aside from the situation he has found himself in. Except the shaking––he can do without the occasional shuddering of the train car. 

Taekwoon had been hurt when Heo broke the news that the Wolf of New Haven was taking an indefinite hiatus to travel from country to country and that Taekwoon should take care of the business while he was away. However, as the train vibrates around him, hurtling toward Old Haven, Taekwoon realizes that what he felt was not jealousy of missing an opportunity to travel, but more because Heo and Yeonju left without _him_. 

_Them_ , Taekwoon corrects. Heo and Yeonju left both him and Jaehwan behind. 

Two years have passed since the Wolf of New Haven and Lee Yeonju had been home; they probably thought he and Jaehwan could handle themselves while they toured their way across the continent. Entropy reigns, though, so maybe it was only natural that Jaehwan and Taekwoon fell apart once the authority figures left the city limits. Only a year into their absence did Jaehwan also leave home, leaving Taekwoon alone. Never had Heo specified a return date, but his master had not responded to Taekwoon’s one inquiry of when they would be back, so Taekwoon does not expect them back for anything less than the end of the world. If that. 

At the stop, a few passengers load onto the train, walking past Taekwoon and Jaehwan’s seats. The stirring of air causes Taekwoon to clench his fists; he fights using his cloak as a barrier against the train car’s musty smell.

Jaehwan chuckles beside him. 

Taekwoon readjusts in his seat, bouncing his knee as the train pulls away from the stop. Only two more stops. Then Old Haven. 

Maybe it comes down to the issue of control. Traveling away from home means moving away from the familiar to the unfamiliar. No one can ever predict the actions of others, but now forced out of his comfort zone, Taekwoon cannot stop anticipating every action of every stranger that enters the car.

For instance, the man standing in the aisle, just by the car door, will not stop shooting glances at him and Jaehwan. At first Taekwoon thought it a coincidence that when he looked up the man would look away, but after catching him for the third time, Taekwoon can no longer just ignore him. Jaehwan, who took the seat near the window, seems blissfully unaware of their onlooker with his face turned toward the scenery. Taekwoon turns a glare toward the man, and sure enough the man’s eyes wander away.

Taekwoon mutters darkly under his breath.

“Play nice,” Jaehwan whispers, though he still looks out the window. “I’d really hate for us to get thrown off.” Taekwoon starts, about to defend himself, but Jaehwan interrupts with, “I saw him.” He tears his eyes from the fast-moving landscape. “He probably wants to let you know he has a seamstress friend he can put you in touch with.”

They both left Seokjin’s apartment in the clothes they arrived in––their singed and distressed party clothes. Taekwoon looks as if a very large moth made a home in his closet, and Jaehwan like he fled a murder scene. 

Taekwoon’s eyes drift lower to Jaehwan’s collarbone, visible through the parting of Jaehwan’s coat. He spies the silver chain resting against Jaehwan’s skin. At the party––yes, in the frenzy of everything––Taekwoon noticed that his old necklace once again hung around Jaehwan’s neck, but only now that they sit on the train, secrets expunged and away from last night’s chaos, does it come back to mind. 

Taekwoon tears his eyes away from Jaehwan. Forcibly. He steels himself to keep facing forward and not letting his eyes wander back to the necklace, to stare at it a bit longer. 

The necklace means nothing. Not to him. 

That was the reason why he let Jaehwan have it, after all. Jaehwan found something beautiful in it, and so he kept it. So, when Jaehwan moved out, why had it hurt Taekwoon so much that Jaehwan had left the necklace behind? The necklace meant nothing; he gave it to Jaehwan, and the younger wore it, but why did mean so much to him whether the necklace was around Jaehwan’s neck or not? 

It meant nothing; not to him, anyway.

Taekwoon cuts his eyes back to the strange man, preparing to meet gazes with him again, however, the stranger has found the window more interesting, and Taekwoon relaxes a fraction, but thoughts of Jaehwan and the necklace still fill his mind. 

“Now who’s staring?” 

Taekwoon lets himself look at Jaehwan, who has leaned over in his seat to giggle into Taekwoon’s ear. Jaehwan’s blood-stained shirt falls open a little more. Belatedly, Jaehwan wraps his coat tight around himself. 

Taekwoon wants to tell him to just button up the coat. Jaehwan keeps forgetting to hold it closed anyway, so Taekwoon swallows and answers, “Everyone else if you keep showing off your bloodied shirt.” 

“You underestimate what sorts of things you can regularly see on public transportation,” Jaehwan laughs. All the same, he wraps his coat tighter around him, covering himself from the neck down. 

The memory of last night sits oddly in Taekwoon’s head. He awoke this morning, still tired and like he had not slept at all. Which may have been true. With Jaehwan’s weight on the mattress beside him, Taekwoon found it hard to empty his mind and let sleep take him, but eventually it had. His dreams were an anxious swirl of yellow light and unfamiliar faces, so when he opened his eyes to Jaehwan shaking his shoulder, he was eager to start the day. 

But then the pieces of last night filtered in––the party, the fight, his and Jaehwan’s heart-to-heart, then Jaehwan’s sudden collapse––leaving Taekwoon dizzy. Had all that really happened? 

But it had. 

Taekwoon sneaks a glance at Jaehwan, the necklace now out of sight thanks to his coat. He almost confessed to him last night. Twice. Taekwoon tries to imagine how different it would be right now had he told Jaehwan his true feelings. Would they even be making this trip together right now? Maybe Jaehwan would have insisted going alone, not able to be with Taekwoon after finding out the truth. Worse, maybe Jaehwan would have tried to tell him it would change nothing between them, lying for Taekwoon’s sake. 

Last night, the close quarters and the spilling of secrets nearly undid Taekwoon. It nearly convinced him that confessing such a thing to Jaehwan would not be so terrible. He already had carved out his secrets, and Jaehwan thought no less of him for admitting them; in reflection, Taekwoon sees how close he had been to giving up that last secret. 

Taekwoon sneaks another glance at Jaehwan, this time focusing on the small scabs that dot across his face. 

Before they left Seokjin’s apartment, Taekwoon attempted to heal Jaehwan’s wounds again. Jaehwan grabbed Taekwoon’s wrist to stop his hand from coming in contact with Jaehwan’s face. “Save your magic,” he said. “You healed me enough. I really should be the one to try and heal you.” 

Taekwoon’s pink, shiny patches of skin stung, but it was not anything he could not handle. He looked into Jaehwan’s determined expression and asked, “Have you ever healed someone before?” 

Jaehwan visibly dimmed at this, becoming a bit disappointed. “Well, no.” 

“I’d let you,” Taekwoon told him, finding that it was the truth, “but healing is a bit more delicate than pulverizing some grapes.” 

Jaehwan caught his meaning and nodded, a bit downcast. Taekwoon pursed his lips, trying to find something to say for him to feel better, but then Jaehwan offered with a tug of a grin, “I could always try to do the opposite of healing you––you know, smash up your insides––so we’re both equally bad off when we see Kyungsoo.” 

Taekwoon could not help the laugh that leaked out, and this alone brought back Jaehwan’s sunny expression. 

Taekwoon now muses aloud, “I wish we had seen Seokjin’s partner before we left.” He meant to only think the words, but they slipped out. Is he that eager to distract himself from his thoughts? 

Jaehwan raises an eyebrow, angling himself to be in Taekwoon’s line of sight. “And why’s that?” 

“Well, it wasn’t just Seokjin’s apartment. We imposed on the both of them.” 

“I’m sure Seokjin will relay just how thankful we are.” Jaehwan scratches at his skin, right next to one of his scabs. “Yoongi has a day job to be at. Unlike some of us.” 

“I have a day job.” 

Jaehwan ignores him and says, “I’m not really sure what he does, though. I just know that he and Seokjin practically work opposite hours. Kinda like me and you.” Jaehwan smiles at Taekwoon, but Taekwoon no longer can match it; his own starts to slip.

Jaehwan’s job. Taekwoon shifts in his seat, starting to bounce his knee again. He knows Jaehwan’s job should not be his primary concern, not when other matters threaten Jaehwan much more, but Taekwoon cannot escape the claws that have reached into his chest and wrapped around his heart. He _despises_ Red Room. 

Red Room’s reputation sits heavy in his mind. It is not the type of work that bothers him so much––a job is a job; it is Red Room’s location and patrons that are the ones to watch. 

Taekwoon clears his throat, not looking directly at Jaehwan as he asks, “So, uh, what do you do at work? Um, like….” But it is hard to not look at Jaehwan because he has scooted so close that the divider between their seats may as well not exist. Taekwoon darts his eyes over to the strange man, but he still has decided to mind his own business, nothing distracting Taekwoon from these thoughts. 

The subtle shift in conversation is too overt for Jaehwan. He trains his eyes on Taekwoon’s profile, his smile also flattening. For someone so pliable, Jaehwan can be quite stern when he wants. “Don’t make that face,” Jaehwan warns him. 

“I’m not making any face.” 

Jaehwan narrows his eyes. 

“You had to know,” Taekwoon clears his throat, “that I was going to ask about it.” 

Jaehwan sighs, shutting his eyes as he rubs his forehead. His un-styled curls sit fluffy and a bit frizzy on his forehead. He still has one arm curled around his middle to hold his coat shut. “I’m a server,” he finally says. “I wait on tables.” Taekwoon starts to nod, but Jaehwan adds. “I also perform.” 

“Perform?”

“Yeah.” Jaehwan looks out the window. “I sing some nights. That’s also part of the gig.” Jaehwan seems to be waiting for Taekwoon to say something, but when he does not, he presses on. “Working at the theatre wasn’t ideal. Sure, there were some perks, but the pay wasn’t spectacular, and there were a lot of…complications that cropped up near the end.

“I know you don’t like it, but at Red Room, not only is the pay better, but I can sing.” He darts a sincere look to Taekwoon. “And that makes it bearable.” 

Taekwoon forces a smile, tugging on the sleeve of Jaehwan’s coat to get his attention. “Well,” he says, “I’m glad you’ve found something that you like.”

“You still hate it; I can tell.” 

Taekwoon’s smile wavers, and he firms his jaw to keep it from turning to a grimace. He answers honestly, though. “It’s a job, Jaehwan. Me not liking it won’t change, but I’m not you. What matters is how you feel about it.” 

Jaehwan’s face takes on a slow smile, softening as he absorbs Taekwoon’s words. “Thanks, Taekwoon. I appreciate that.” 

He goes back to staring out the window, still leaning so close Taekwoon, and Taekwoon’s smile fades. He told Jaehwan the truth; the fact that he hates Red Room does not mean he thinks less of Jaehwan for working there. But the worry in his gut remains. 

The feeling he has about Jaehwan working at Red Room is much the same as the one he has at the prospect of traveling. He feels off-center, like someone means to completely knock him off his feet and send him to the ground. The creepy bastards that visit Red Room, that frequent that area of New Haven, are the ones Taekwoon has to trust. 

Taekwoon chances a look at Jaehwan, the quiet apprehension of their meeting with Kyungsoo no doubt weighing on his mind as he watches out the window. Taekwoon’s fingers twitch on the armrest, so close to Jaehwan’s dangling hand. 

He curls his fingers to make a fist.

Taekwoon has no trust to spare, none at all, when it comes to Jaehwan’s safety. He spent his whole life ensuring that no harm would come to him, and maybe the necessity of Jaehwan’s job, the mundanity of it all, is what bothers him so much. The demon, he can help with. The darkness inside Jaehwan, Kyungsoo may be able to tackle and if that does not work, they can work out a new plan. 

Red Room is completely out of his control. 

Taekwoon briefly wonders if the intensity of this feeling, the need to keep Jaehwan safe, stems from his love for him. As much as he appreciates Hakyeon or Hongbin––and loves them too but in a different way––he finds himself not so caught up on the details of their situations. If someone hurt them, that would be different, but he is not so worried about the _prospect_ of something happening, whereas the vague idea of _anything_ happening to Jaehwan sends sharp needles of fear racing down his spine.

Taekwoon blows out a breath. 

Every part of him urges him to tell Jaehwan, to tell Jaehwan how beautiful he is, to tell Jaehwan that he has been in love with him for so long. That he accepts his struggles and values his strengths. That he wants to be with him in their thirties, fifties, however long they have left in life. 

But…. But Jaehwan’s previous lovers were far different from Taekwoon, more forward and more experienced. If Taekwoon admits his feelings, what if all Jaehwan feels is pity? 

_Taekwoon, are sure you aren’t confused? You said we were_ friends.

And then Jaehwan will inevitably, and understandably, leave him. 

Taekwoon jumps in his seat when Jaehwan taps his hand and says, “We’re close now.” He looks at Taekwoon curiously. “You alright?” 

Taekwoon nods. 

Jaehwan finally leans away, not looking totally convinced but leaving the subject alone. “Okay, well, it’ll probably be ten more minutes.” 

Ten more minutes. Taekwoon looses another tight breath. Ten more minutes until he can get off this train and meet this Kyungsoo person. And encounter more Chaos magic. Last night, Jaehwan asked him to open his mind, but the idea of freely using it still sits oddly within him. If Heo saw him now…. 

But Heo’s gone, is he not? He left them behind, and two years have passed since Taekwoon has seen him, and maybe Taekwoon has done the best he can to keep his footing in the shifting sands of his situation––the reemergence of his mother and Jaehwan gone and back again. So wherever Heo is, he is not _here_.

Taekwoon banishes all thoughts of his master from his mind.

When the train arrives at the station, Taekwoon watches the strange man descend onto the platform, only satisfied when the man disappears into the crowd, in the opposite direction of him and Jaehwan. Never once looking back at them. Taekwoon feels a pull on his robe, and when he looks over, he finds Jaehwan’s questioning eyes framed by his upturned brows. From the look on his face, Jaehwan must have seen him watching the man’s departure. Jaehwan asks, “It bothered you that much?”

Taekwoon shrugs. “Just doesn’t sit right with me.” His eyes dart around the train platform, taking in the sheer amount of people boarding and exiting. He steps closer to Jaehwan as a couple barrels down the platform, racing toward their departing train. Jaehwan’s hand clings to his sleeve, holding tight. 

After the couple passes, Jaehwan asks, “What’s wrong?” His eyes search Taekwoon’s. If Taekwoon were a book, Jaehwan would know him from front to back cover, because Taekwoon thought he was being discreet about the wadded up nerves wriggling inside him, but apparently not discreet enough. Jaehwan still clings to Taekwoon. 

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon answers honestly. “Might just be the area.” He does not specify all the things that happened yesterday and future things that have contributed to this feeling, but he does confess, “I have no idea where we’re going.” 

Jaehwan offers him a small smile, and Taekwoon eases into Jaehwan, drawing even closer. The younger lets go of Taekwoon’s sleeve only to take his hand, and he leads them forward. Jaehwan’s much warmer hand slots perfectly into Taekwoon’s, and if Taekwoon’s cold fingers bother Jaehwan, he makes no mention of it. 

Jaehwan deftly carves a path through the train station and out into the city of Old Haven. Not for the first time, a rush of thankfulness swathes Taekwoon as he trains his eyes on the back of Jaehwan’s head rather than the cranky and flustered and excited faces of the travelers around him. Only once they enter the thick of the city does Taekwoon tear his eyes from dark curls. The buildings stretch high into the sky, old archways and stone-work drawing his eye. 

Before Taekwoon can absorb much of the city, though, they arrive at The Dark Emporium. 

He stops in his tracks when they turn the street corner and Jaehwan points to the eerie stairway, descending toward a basement. Surely that’s not it. This cannot be it. 

“This is it,” Jaehwan announces, finally dropping Taekwoon’s hand. 

Taekwoon shoots Jaehwan a look, but Jaehwan marches down the steps at breakneck speed and raps on the door although the sign in the small window reads “CLOSED.” Before they left Seokjin’s apartment complex, Jaehwan had used the phone in hall to warn that he and an accompanying guest (Taekwoon) would be coming soon, and that it was an emergency. Taekwoon, about to ask if there has been a mistake, feels the words die in his throat when the door swings inward of its own volition. 

Jaehwan waves Taekwoon to follow, and it must be the look on his face, because Jaehwan urges him once more before he disappears inside.

“So. You’re the guest.” 

Taekwoon steps inside the door––it bangs shut behind him although no one touched it––and swivels around, searching for the disembodied voice. It takes him a moment to notice the person behind the counter. The man looks far too youthful, not at all what Taekwoon pictured when Jaehwan described him, but Taekwoon remembers Jaehwan’s cryptic warning that the shop and its keeper are not all that they seem. 

“I saw you coming off the train,” The man, Kyungsoo, intones. He points behind him at the rattling charms hanging from his walls. “I’m Kyungsoo,” he says, confirming Taekwoon’s guess, and then gestures toward Taekwoon, expecting him to do the same. 

“Jung Taekwoon,” he says stiffly. 

“The all-star apprentice, huh?” Kyungsoo taps his hand against the counter, against the newspaper spread out before him. Against a bold-faced headline. Kyungsoo eyes rove over Taekwoon as he says, “The all-star apprentice of the Song family––you’re making quite the stir.” 

Taekwoon frowns at the newspaper, drawing closer to the counter. He darts a glance to Jaehwan, but Jaehwan seems just as surprised to learn that Taekwoon has been featured in it. Taekwoon does not know what puzzles him more––learning that he has been deemed worthy to make the news or the fact that he made the front page in Old Haven, a whole city away. 

Kyungsoo waves a hand, seeing their puzzled expressions. “Nothing but praise, I assure. Can we get to the real business?” The man’s eyes rove over Taekwoon as if he can see through him, and he holds out his hands, palms up. “Will you let me take a look?” 

Taekwoon glances again at Jaehwan, who gives him the slightest of nods. He lets Kyungsoo take his hands, and the wizard’s red magic pours into him, searching. “Ah,” Kyungsoo hums lightly. He pulls away and takes his magic with him. He says nothing else on the matter but looks between Jaehwan and Taekwoon with an odd look in his eyes. 

Before letting the silence drag too long, Jaehwan says, “I need you to do that again but to me.” 

“To you?”

Jaehwan takes a deep breath and explains the darkness that Taekwoon sensed, about the demon anchoring itself to Jaehwan. Taekwoon interjects at certain points to clarify, and by the end of it, Taekwoon doubts Kyungsoo understands any of what they said. 

The short man rubs at his chin. “You never gave me the details of your demon,” he complains. He shakes his head. “Sounds like you’ve got a Leech.” 

“A what?”

“The Bureau has a few fancy names for the specific ordering of demons, but yours sounds most like a Leech.” Kyungsoo waves a hand, and a tapestry unfurls over the front door. The little bit of natural light that leaked into the shop is now gone, letting the multitude of candles supply visibility. 

Jaehwan looks to Taekwoon, apprehension evident. “A Leech?”

“It is a category of demon that establishes a host and drains them of self.” Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. He fixes Taekwoon with a look. “Before I go any further, I need to know that I can trust you.” 

The words sit oddly against Taekwoon’s ears. Him? Trustworthy? Of course he is.

Jaehwan places his hand on Taekwoon’s shoulder, and jerks a thumb at himself. “I’ve known him my entire life,” Jaehwan states. “I trust him more than anyone.” An unspoken “more than you” hangs in the air, but if it bothers Kyungsoo, or if Jaehwan even meant to imply it, Taekwoon cannot tell.

Kyungsoo instead waves his hand again as if to brush Jaehwan’s words away. “I don’t care what you think.” He points a finger at Jaehwan. “You’re likely two days away from being investigated by the Bureau, and you,” he points at Taekwoon, “are the son of a millionaire, who’s just been featured in the paper.”

Taekwoon looks down at the counter again, now close enough that even with page upside down, he can make out a shot of him standing with his mother at last night’s party. Taekwoon frowns. He barely remembers posing for a picture. 

Kyungsoo says, “You don’t use Chaos magic; I can tell by the state of your channels. I just want to know if I can trust that you’re not going to send the authorities down my neck.” 

“I’m here for Jaehwan,” Taekwoon affirms. “He needs help, so I’m here for him. I may not like any bit of this, but you have my word that I won’t speak of this to anyone.”

Kyungsoo fixes him with a long-held look before holding out his hand once more, like he means for Taekwoon to shake his hand. “Good,” he says. “Prove it.” 

Taekwoon stares at Kyungsoo’s hand a moment before understanding what he means. 

Jaehwan clears his throat. “Prove it how?” 

“By making a Promise.” Kyungsoo’s red magic flickers around his hand. Taekwoon hesitates only slightly before grasping it. Determination fills him. He may still be unsure about Chaos magic, but Taekwoon would never sell out Jaehwan, and if that extends to this wizard, then so be it. 

Kyungsoo’s magic envelops Taekwoon’s hand, and the magic burns just slightly as the spell settles into him. 

“Wait,” Jaehwan says, looking between both men. “What’s happening?”

Taekwoon winces as Kyungsoo’s magic pulls at him, but then it is over, and Kyungsoo releases his hand. The shorter cuts his eyes to Jaehwan. “A Promise ensures accountability. If he gives away the details of this shop or about me, I’ll know.” 

Kyungsoo motions for them to follow him, and he disappears behind an orange curtain tacked to the wall. Taekwoon lets Jaehwan walk ahead, and he follows behind, rubbing at his wrist where Kyungsoo’s magic circled. 

A Promise is made by distilling a bit of one’s magic into the recipient. Should Taekwoon break it, he imagines Kyungsoo’s magic will react in a fierce way, having some negative effect on him. Not that Taekwoon will intentionally break the Promise. He has never performed or been a recipient of one, but he imagines the consequences are best avoided at all costs. 

Jaehwan holds the curtain aside for Taekwoon, giving a concerned look at his wrist, but Taekwoon nudges him forward and gives a small shake of his head as if to imply that it is nothing to worry about. Jaehwan raises a brow but keeps his thoughts to himself.

They follow Kyungsoo down the short hallway to a tiny room at the end. “Alright,” Kyungsoo announces once they enter. “Let’s have a look at this emergency.” Kyungsoo flicks his hands, strings of red magic zooming around the room, before a circle appears around Taekwoon’s feet. “Stand absolutely still,” Kyungsoo orders without looking at him. 

Kyungsoo gestures Jaehwan closer. “I need you to lay down here.” He points at the floor, perfectly center in the room. “Also, can you pull up your shirt? I need to see the symbol.” 

Jaehwan hesitates slightly, but then slides off his coat. He positions himself on the floor, lifting his shirt only the necessary amount although its current state reveals more than intended. Kyungsoo’s eyes widen at the dried blood and sheared fabric, but keeps comments to himself. Kyungsoo kneels beside him, and instead of asking for Jaehwan’s hands, Kyungsoo jabs his tensed fingers into Jaehwan’s stomach. The lack of pretense causes Jaehwan, largely unprepared, to wheeze out a cough. 

Kyungsoo’s red magic bends in contorted shapes as it flows into Taekwoon’s friend. Kyungsoo’s eyes, trained on the skin of Jaehwan’s stomach, harden as he remarks, “Ah, there it is.” And shortly after, the bright red marks reappear. As a furrow creases his brow, Kyungsoo warns, “The anchor has festered for so long that it will be difficult to purge it from you. This will hurt.” He waits until Jaehwan nods in agreement before looking at Taekwoon; he says, “Brace yourself.” 

For what, Taekwoon does not have to ask because in the next moment, Jaehwan lets out a cry as Kyungsoo’s magic intensifies ten-fold, now dumping itself into Jaehwan, the sheer amount of energy causing the air to swirl around the room like a vortex. Taekwoon tries to step forward, but the little circle around his feet stops him like a barrier keeps him in place. 

Loose papers fly around the room. Kyungsoo’s magic casts red over floor and walls in an eerie glow, looking much like the color of blood, and Taekwoon recoils when he sees that along the walls, shadows have appeared. 

The shadows come from Jaehwan’s body as if someone has held a candle to him, but the shadows are not his own. The shapeless creatures resemble nothing that Taekwoon can name––just darkness undulating in erratic shapes. Over the whirling wind, over Kyungsoo’s grunts of exertion, Taekwoon thinks he hears the shadows hiss as they as they try to escape Kyungsoo’s magic.

Jaehwan moans, drawing Taekwoon’s attention back to him. Pain twists his face, and his eyes are squeezed shut. On the floor, Jaehwan’s hands are curled into fists, and Taekwoon’s horror grows as he watches Jaehwan’s veins stand stark against his skin, almost black against his paling complexion. 

Taekwoon tries to move forward again but the barrier impedes him. The fist of fear tightens around his heart. Sweat has broken out on Jaehwan’s skin, and even through the sheen of red magic, Taekwoon can tell that the blood has left Jaehwan’s cheeks and lips. At this rate, Kyungsoo will burn out the anchor but also _Jaehwan_.

“Stay––where you are,” Kyungsoo heaves. He has eyes only for the marks on Jaehwan’s stomach, now blood-red as if they have been freshly cut, but his words are for Taekwoon. “No matter––what.”

A trickle of black runs from Jaehwan’s nose, his body now convulsing as Kyungsoo’s magic pours into it. Taekwoon lurches forward, pounding his fist on the invisible barrier that holds him back.

“You’re killing him!” 

Another of Jaehwan’s moans punctures the air, and Kyungsoo’s eyes finally look away from the brand to find Jaehwan’s pallid face. With a pained grunt, Kyungsoo rips his hands back, breaking the flow of magic with a violent halt. He throws himself back on his heels, reeling from the force of it, breathing hard. 

Since the magic stopped, the wind has ceased as well. Papers that were ripped loose now settle on the floor in disarray. The shadows no longer crawl on the walls. The room has returned to a normal color, no longer cast in the shade of blood. 

Taekwoon notices none, though. His eyes trained on Jaehwan alone. “Jaehwan,” he pleads. “ _Jaehwan_.”

Jaehwan’s eyes shoot open, inhaling a loud gasp of air, and he rolls onto his knees to vomit a dark substance from his mouth. It steams as it makes contact with the floor. Taekwoon launches himself forward, stumbling now that Kyungsoo’s barrier has dissolved. He drops to his knees beside Jaehwan and rubs the younger’s back as he continues to vomit. 

Jaehwan wipes a shaking hand over his mouth, a bit of the sludge coming away on his hand. Taekwoon looks for something to wipe Jaehwan’s hand, but when he glances up, Kyungsoo stands there, holding a hand-towel. He quickly wipes Jaehwan’s hand and then scrubs the blackened blood from his nose. Once done, he throws the hand-towel onto the pile of vomit. Jaehwan stays on his hands and knees for a moment, breathing hard as sweat drips onto the floor. 

“I might sit back,” is all the warning Kyungsoo gives before setting the towel and vomit on fire with an efficient wave of his arm. Taekwoon manages to snatch Jaehwan back before Jaehwan himself can catch fire, and he pulls the younger close to him for a quick moment before releasing him. He glares at Kyungsoo, but Kyungsoo’s expression betrays nothing. 

“Let me see,” Kyungsoo mutters as he steps closer to Jaehwan. He takes his still-shaking hand into his own, and Kyungsoo’s red magic forms a halo around their clasped hands before he curses and drops the connection. “Still there.”

“Still?” Jaehwan’s voice turns shrill.

Kyungsoo curses again as he gets to his feet. “Those exorcists should’ve done more than a simple expellant when the demon first attacked you.” Kyungsoo waves his hand and the burning fire turns to a pile of ash. “If people could be taught the proper way to deal with demons, then we would be having a much easier time right now.” 

Kyungsoo seems to be close to combusting himself as he turns on his heel, staring at his bookshelf. He then looks back at Jaehwan. “I can’t remove the anchor without doing you harm––extreme harm. The anchor has been allowed to cement itself to you, and your body is too entangled with it to safely remove.” He swipes a hand over his face and releases a shuddering breath that indicates more about how he feels than his matter-of-fact tone lets on. 

Jaehwan slides out of Taekwoon’s reach as he inches toward where Kyungsoo stands at his shelf. He nearly crawls along the ground to grip at Kyungsoo’s frayed robe. Taekwoon almost cannot watch. “Please,” Jaehwan begs. “I need to get rid of this; you have to––”

“No!” Kyungsoo’s fierce eyes bear into Jaehwan’s, his placid mask fully displaced, and with a jolt, Taekwoon realizes the wizard cares for Jaehwan’s well-being. Which makes two of them. 

“I refuse to be a murderer,” Kyungsoo hisses. He looks down, finally realizing Jaehwan’s grip on his robe and removes it with careful fingers. 

Dissatisfied with the answer, Jaehwan demands, “Then what do I do?” 

“The demon must be sent.” Kyungsoo grimaces. “It will be hard, but a sending is still possible even if the anchor is intact. Sending the demon back to its proper realm will officially sever the connection, and you will be free of its attachment.” 

Jaehwan sags backward, his butt hitting the floor with a thump. He pulls his knees to his chest, and Taekwoon knows the thoughts racing through his mind. Taekwoon hesitates at first but then crouches beside Jaehwan and places a hand on his shoulder, asking for his attention. “I’ll help you,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

He knows that Jaehwan fears those words. He can see him start to refuse when Kyungsoo interjects, “The demon will be impossible to fight alone. You’ll need all the help you can get.”

Jaehwan presses his lips together; Taekwoon can tell that he fumes on the inside. When Jaehwan finally nods in agreement, it is not with a smile nor with any sort of acceptance toward the situation. More like he has been strong-armed into doing something abhorrent. 

“Good,” Kyungsoo says, his composure returning. “So you both will need to find this demon quickly. With your third attack, it may have absorbed enough energy to cause real havoc. The demon was a threat to your safety before, but now it is a danger to the public.” 

Kyungsoo rattles off a few more scenarios about how badly they need to find the demon, but Taekwoon directs his attention to Jaehwan. He has his knees still pulled into his chest, with his chin resting upon them, still breathing raggedly. Taekwoon can tell that he is listening to Kyungsoo, but the words weigh heavier on him, reminding him of all the ways in which he has failed. 

Taekwoon itches to let him know that everything will be okay, that they will send the demon and put mess can be put behind them, but maybe that will have to wait for later. Taekwoon cannot take his hand or put an arm around him without drawing Kyungsoo’s attention. 

“––and so you will need better talismans. Something more substantial than whatever was given you.” Kyungsoo snorts, scorn evident for Jaehwan’s exorcists, which finally draws a response out of Jaehwan.

“They were doing their best.”

“I can see that,” Kyungsoo shortly replies. “Don’t mistake my poor impression for attacks upon their character.” Kyungsoo rummages in his bookshelf, parting aside wooden sculptures and necklaces, and trinkets. “Exorcists usually get the job done, but in your case, it is clear how proper instruction has clearly escaped our exorcists of the modern era.” He shakes his head. 

Jaehwan says, “It’s my fault; we wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t––”

Kyungsoo turns around, hands laden with items. “Well, of course. But,” he adds, “you never would have learned to harness your own magic. Don’t discount your successes.” Kyungsoo sits on the floor in front of Taekwoon and Jaehwan. “Now, enough of that. These are some things that will help you. Your demon is strong, but these talismans will help negate its effects.”

Kyungsoo hands most of them to Jaehwan since the demon draws solely upon his energy, and he instructs Taekwoon to wear a few around his neck. “These will only protect against the demon,” Kyungsoo says. “It will only protect you from the denizens of the Infernal Realm; nothing from this one. I must ask you to be careful.” He shoots a pointed look at Jaehwan. 

After that, Kyungsoo demands that Jaehwan practice more of his magic, and Jaehwan nods, unusually subdued. Taekwoon watches for awhile, but when it becomes evident that Jaehwan’s practice means suspending various things in the air for allotted amounts of time and break the same cup that Kyungsoo repairs over and over, Taekwoon grows restless. 

He leaves the little room, and as the door closes behind him, all noise is sealed off from within. The door must be spelled. Taekwoon walks down the hallway, sliding between the piles of books, parting aside the curtain to reenter the front of the shop. He pokes around the various displays for awhile, but he soon grows bored of that as well.

He shakes his head, turning in a circle. Twice in such a short amount of time has Taekwoon watched magic overcome Jaehwan’s body. He tries to will the image away, but it is seared against his eyelids. He wishes for something to _distract_ himself, something to take his mind away from the unpleasant images in his head. 

Finally, he spies Jaehwan’s satchel on the counter, where he must have left it earlier, but what draws his interest is the newspaper still spread out underneath it. Taekwoon slides the paper out, turns it right side up, and reads the headline.

_SONG JIEUN’S SECRET SON RETURNS_

_Tradewind’s owner opened her home last night to celebrate family and industry._

Intrigued, Taekwoon continues reading the article.

_Song Jieun has been head of Tradewind Sailing Company nearing two decades. Last night, however, the businesswoman opened up about her personal life to the media for the first time since the rumors spread of her secret child ._

_“Yes, I have a son,” Song shared. “I was very young at the time, and I was career-focused, so I was intensely private with what I shared with the media. But I was young and also in love; I had a private marriage overseen by the courthouse and my father, and soon after I found out I was pregnant. My happiness, however, did not last long. My husband passed in the beginning stages of my pregnancy._

_I was distraught. Looking back, I know I was not thinking clearly, but instead of heeding my own thoughts, I let others convince me to give my child away.”_

_Her child, Song Taekwoon, now at age 21, spent the night turning buttons into sapphires and wineglasses into turtle doves. “I made a mistake,” Song said, “So I need to make up for lost time.”_

_Song Taekwoon, the newest wizard on the scene, has made (CONT. A4)_

Taekwoon narrows his eyes at the paper. He does not bother reading the rest of the article as it misquoted his name, occupation, _and_ his age, and many things may have happened last night, but Taekwoon never transfigured a wineglass into a turtle dove. The Taekwoon in the article may as well be someone else. While he does half-remember a tight squeeze from his mother and the flash of a camera, he does not remember giving a quote to a reporter.

But even if the inaccuracies infuriate him, what he finds most curious is the version of events his mother recounted. It echoes the conversation they had in the tea shop, but with notable additions and revisions. No doubt she lied to make Taekwoon’s birth legitimate, but Taekwoon found what bothered him more was the fact that his father, not mentioned by name, was said to be dead. 

Never had he asked his mother who exactly his father was. She had made it clear that he was not someone to rely on, and she sustained no contact with him. Taekwoon had taken that at face value. He, however, was left with the impression that he was still alive. 

Dead. Why does that detail bother him so much? He never entertained ideas of confronting the man; he had thought reconnecting with his mother was enough. 

Taekwoon chews on his lip. The more he thinks about the article, the more it bothers him.

His eyes drift to Jaehwan’s bag. He lifts the flap and his fingers find the one thing it houses––the Chaos tome. 

All day Taekwoon has looked for distractions from his worries, but his worries keep building as if to grow so big that Taekwoon should find no distraction from them. Taekwoon grits his teeth. 

He wants to pretend that he did not seek out the book, that it was not what he originally came out here for. He wants to pretend that Chaos magic is all that he has been told––dangerous and untamed––but Kyungsoo’s proficiency and Jaehwan’s eagerness have done more than pique his curiosity. 

He pulls the book from the satchel. 

Taekwoon has always constructed boundaries for himself. Never does he talk about his feelings. Never does he exploit his magic for the gain of others, and never does he venture into its dark side. Never does he cross the line of friendship with Jaehwan. 

Lately, he has broken all but one. 

Taekwoon opens the book to a random page and begins to read. 

Time passes strangely as Taekwoon becomes lost in the words. Candle flame does not hint at the passing hours, and only when Taekwoon glances up at the clock is he alerted to the waning day. But he reads on, only stopping when Kyungsoo’s voice interrupts him. 

Taekwoon starts at Kyungsoo’s sudden appearance. He clears his throat and asks, “I’m sorry?” when he fails to catch Kyungsoo’s words.

“I asked if you were studying.” Kyungsoo wears a knowing smile, his tone light, but his gaze bears a heavier weight. His eyes bounce between Taekwoon and the book. 

“Reading up, I guess.” Taekwoon thumbs through the pages, a question on his tongue. He swallows it in favor of asking, “How’s he doing?” 

Kyungsoo examines his sleeve as if noticing for the first time the frayed nature of the hem. He pulls off a thread and answers, “Just fine. For someone with such a late start, he does well.” 

“Probably thanks to absorbing all the magic lessons others tried to force into him.”

“Maybe.”

Taekwoon shifts his weight, finger marking the section he has read and re-read, and he checks the page to make sure he still has it marked. He flicks his eyes to Kyungsoo and back to the page. “I, uh….”

Kyungsoo blinks slowly, still wearing that wry smile. “Yes?”

Taekwoon turns the book so it faces Kyungsoo, tapping the page with his finger. “Can you do that? For me?” Shame curls in his gut as he keeps his face downcast. 

Kyungsoo quiets, smile now fading as his eyes scan over the passage. He raises his eyes to Taekwoon and slowly asks, “Having doubts?”

“I just…need to be sure.” Taekwoon quickly adds, “I’ll pay.”

“Yes, I can do that,” Kyungsoo answers. “I can do that. But I’ll need bit of blood from you. It’s a bit of an intense spell.” 

After a brief exchange of payment and blood, Taekwoon’s coin pouch is left lighter and his pointer finger stings where he was pricked. Kyungsoo tucks the small vial of blood into his palm. 

“Thank you,” Taekwoon murmurs. Before Kyungsoo can walk away, Taekwoon adds, “Please, don’t tell Jaehwan. I’ll tell him. When I’m ready.” 

Kyungsoo regards him strangely, one brow furrowed and the other raised. He runs a tongue over his teeth, seeming to weigh his words. “I’m glad,” he says slowly, “that you’re the one assisting him.” 

Taekwoon, who let his gaze drop to the pinprick of blood on his finger, looks up in surprise at Kyungsoo’s words. The words touch his heart, easing apart the fist and sliding through. Kyungsoo moves to turn away but stops. “I can’t help him because if I have another run-in with the Bureau, it’ll be over for me.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t known him long, but I worry about him.”

“That feeling doesn’t decrease with time.”

The two men share a look, something almost friendly, when the orange curtain is flung aside and Jaehwan flies out with talismans and wards gathered in his arms. “Do you know how late it is?” he shrieks. A book or two crashes behind him. He ignores Kyungsoo’s affronted shout, and sprints around the counter to Taekwoon’s side. He has his coat pinned between his arm and side. 

“It’s after six!”

Taekwoon blinks. “Yes, I know.”

“My shift– I need to grab my uniform– The train takes an hour!” 

Taekwoon can only blink at this rapid dispersal of information. “Uh….”

Jaehwan hurriedly thanks Kyungsoo as he sweeps the Chaos book back into his bag, unaware of Taekwoon and Kyungsoo’s discussion over it, and shoves all the magical items in as well. He latches onto Taekwoon’s hand and jerks him toward the door. Kyungsoo seems just as stunned as Taekwoon by the panicked departure but pulls himself together to shout a goodbye after them. 

Taekwoon and Jaehwan half-run toward the train station, and as Taekwoon stares at the back of Jaehwan’s head, at their clasped hands, a small part of him warns that every day he inches closer and closer to breaking that last boundary. 

 

//

 

Jaehwan rushes in to work at the last second with his work clothes stuffed haphazardly in his satchel, his coat pressed tight against him to prevent his coworkers from seeing the rips and bloodstains on his outfit. 

Upon his and Taekwoon’s arrival home, Jaehwan darted in and out the house in record time, dumping his amulet, the Chaos tome, and all but one of Kyungsoo’s magical objects onto his bed. He looped Kyungsoo’s talisman around his neck and snatched his uniform off his floor. On the train home, Taekwoon asked if it was really so terrible that he be late, but Jaehwan had implored that yes––yes, it was. 

Jaehwan darts past Seokjin on his way to the private employee changing room, and his friend’s laughter chases him. “Running late?” Any other time Jaehwan would congratulate Seokjin for pointing out the obvious as he is _running_ through the building, but Jaehwan teeters the fine line between late and nearly late, so he saves his breath.

He enters the changing room, a few employees still adjusting their makeup and chatting, and he takes an empty stall near the back and locks himself in. He sheds his coat and rips off his ruined shirt. He feels a pang of sadness as he realizes for the umpteenth time in the last twenty-four hours that the shirt is beyond saving. 

He makes a face as he rips the cold, sweaty shirt over his head. He ran almost the whole way, and his heart still beats wildly in his chest. Taekwoon wanted to accompany him, but upon realizing that Jaehwan really meant to run to work, he changed his mind. Instead, Taekwoon promised that he would set up the objects Kyungsoo gave them around the house, and then visit the exorcists’ shop to buy more supplies and ask Wonsik and Sanghyuk to assist them in tracking the demon. “I’ll go with you another time,” Taekwoon told him. 

_Another time._ Yes, another time Taekwoon will walk him to work and drop him off at the door, the door of Taekwoon’s favorite place. 

How did Jaehwan slip into this odd reality? It is both freeing and nerve-wracking to not have secrets weighing him down; Jaehwan no longer has to hide, but now Taekwoon knows everything. None of Taekwoon’s actions point to it, but Jaehwan’s paranoia needs little reason to make him wonder if Taekwoon thinks less of him for everything that has happened. He tells himself it is not so, but at times it is hard to reason against his own worst critic––himself. 

Jaehwan tucks Kyungsoo’s talisman under his collar, the long wooden pendant resting against his sternum, joining Taekwoon’s necklace around his neck. Jaehwan notes, immensely pleased, that this talisman smells remarkably better than the last. 

He leaves his coat and bag in the stall and hastens to join the other employees at the mirror. His hair could be better but considering he just ran more than he ever has in his life, it fared well, and he fluffs up his bangs before hurrying to the main floor. 

Lucky for Jaehwan, his manager took no notice of his late arrival. For a weekend, guest attendance is unusually slow as Seokjin points out when he meets Jaehwan by the kitchen. “If we were busier,” he says, “I’m sure you’d be getting an earful, but it’s been so slow that Heeyeon and I have been counting the silverware.” Heeyeon pinches Jaehwan’s side as she passes by them both, waving several bundles of silverware in her second hand. 

“Oh,” Jaehwan pants, heart still close to a collapse, “Glad I could rush right over.”

“Where were you? You’re never late.” 

“Just…sorting out things.”

Seokjin fixes Jaehwan with a knowing look and a slow smile creeps onto his face, the smile of a cat that has found a wounded bird. “Like a tall, handsome thing that you brought over last night? That thing?” Seokjin ignores Jaehwan’s flustered stuttering and says, “I hope you two have ‘sorted’ out everything.” He emphasizes the word with a rude hand gesture that Jaehwan wishes their manager saw. “I understand. Completely.” 

“No,” Jaehwan finally gets out, stumbling over his words as a fierce blush rises to his face. “I– I’ve been virginal these days; haven’t you heard?” He keeps his mind away from visions of Taekwoon gripping less friendly parts of him, cursing Seokjin for insinuating whatever he insinuated. “My last relationship was such a bother. Maybe I just want a break from the relationship market right now.” 

“Is that so?” Seokjin’s smile grows wider. “Holding out for him?”

“That’s a leap in logic.” 

“So that’s a yes.” 

“I refuse to give you any sort of answer on that.” A different thought crops up in Jaehwan’s mind, and partly to get Seokjin onto a different subject, he asks, “Have you told anyone? About me?” 

“You think I kiss and tell?” 

“I’m just wondering.”

Seokjin shifts his weight to his other foot. “I told Yoongi, but that’s because I think it sets a bad precedent to keep two bloody men in his place without telling him why.” 

Jaehwan nods. “I figured as much.”

“But no one else.”

“Thanks.” Jaehwan steps in closer, lowering his voice. “I’d appreciate if you kept it between us for the moment.” He checks over Seokjin’s shoulder, but Heeyeon is still nowhere to be found. “I just need to fix this problem before the Bureau tosses me away.” 

Seokjin returns the nod. “Hey, my lips are sealed. By the way, what’s the plan for that? Or is there a plan?”

Jaehwan nods, lowering his voice further. “I’m fixing––I mean––Taekwoon and I are fixing it this weekend. Which reminds me to ask, can you work my next shift? Not tomorrow night but Monday’s?” 

“Picking up extra hours again? How can I refuse that?” Seokjin rolls his eyes and grins. “I’m glad he’s helping you. It makes me feel better that you have help.” 

Jaehwan shifts on the spot and when Seokjin notices his lack of response, he pats Jaehwan on the shoulder. “I just mean that it’s always nice to have help, y’know? Your, uh, problem sounds dangerous, and I really can’t train to be an exorcist within a day.” 

Jaehwan does break into a smile at that, conceding Seokjin’s point. “You’re right.” 

The two part ways when the manager walks by, eyeing them for standing and talking instead of finding something productive to do. 

Jaehwan works his shift in relative peace. Attendance gradually picks up, but it is still one of the slower shifts that Jaehwan has worked. He goes around to each of his tables, refilling glasses with water and alcohol, checking in possibly _too_ much, but thankfully, he still pulls in a decent amount of tips, and he only has one intoxicated customer pat him on the hip. He does not have a slot at the microphone scheduled for tonight, but even so his shift shapes up to be alright without it. 

Funny how a combination of events can alter the course of a night so drastically. Funny how time––there is so little of it––can lose its importance amid routine tasks. So much can happen within an hour. 

Around eleven, Heeyeon voices to Jaehwan that she feels unwell. Not bad enough to leave, she says, but she fans at her face, and Jaehwan notices the glassiness of her eyes and the spots of color on her cheeks. Before he can comment on it, she takes her tray of drinks out of the kitchen, and Jaehwan follows close behind with his own.

He balances the tray on his shoulder as he crosses to the main floor, halting when he eyes a gentleman standing in one of the aisles he needs to cross. Rather than try and squeeze through, Jaehwan decides to take the long way around to get to the tables on the other side of the room. He passes a section of private tables––booths with high backing and decorated with fake foliage to give an illusion of privacy––and hears a familiar voice. 

It is now eleven-o’-four. 

The voice pricks something in Jaehwan’s memory bank, and he resists the urge to look. The private booths are reserved for guests with special requests, like discussing business, and lingering long around these tables asks for unwanted attention. Jaehwan always wondered who would want to do business in a place like this, but when he shared this thought with Seokjin, the other simply replied, “Where else wouldn’t you be overheard in plain sight?” 

Jaehwan now understands the truth in Seokjin’s observation because he barely heard the voice over the live band and the clink of drinks and laughter. And if it had been a regular night, if the voice were not so familiar to him, he would have missed it. He did not hear specific words, just the tone and lilt, and these barest of hints frustrate him. 

It could be a regular. Jaehwan has served many people in his time here; if he recognizes a regular’s voice, then it would come as no surprise. 

But still…. 

Jaehwan finishes checking on his table and doubles back the way he came, but this time he ducks into the empty booth directly behind the voice. The section is near empty, and as quietly as he can, he slides around the table so he sits against the dividing wall. He listens as carefully as he can and––

“No, that won’t work,” the familiar voice says. Light and airy. Jaehwan just barely hears it above the noise. “If you cannot give me a yes or no, then we have larger problems here.” 

A second voice joins in––much deeper. “My services, unfortunately, require some tact. If the payload goes missing after my men are spotted hanging around, how do you think that makes me look?” A snort. “So, right now, I can’t give you a clear answer.”

“You are missing the point.” There is a pause and a glass clinks against the table. Jaehwan strains to hear the next part. “I am well aware of your reputation, and I should hope you would not consider that I am so careless as to let you have your way with all the details. I remember Silver Street. You would do well to remember that I stand to lose the most in this.” 

Silver Street? The street in New Haven’s shopping district? It is not a place that Jaehwan can say he frequents, but the name is tied to something bigger, something of more importance than just fancy clothes and fine dining. Something happened there, but as Jaehwan peddles through names in his head, he draws a blank.

“Hey!” 

Thick hands jerk Jaehwan out of the booth, his knees jamming against the table on the way out. The hands hold fistfuls of his collar, dragging him forward so only the toes of his shoes graze the floor. Jaehwan looks up into the eyes of a large man who seems to be intent to blow Jaehwan away with the intensity of his bad breath.

“What’s going on?”

Over the man’s shoulder, Jaehwan sees another man sliding out from the booth he was listening in on. Dread drops into his stomach. Suddenly, he remembers the name. The newspapers dubbed it the “Silver Street Scandal.” 

Two years ago, the papers had coined the name after a series of arsons took place along the street. All the effected businesses collected insurance money for the damages, but in the following months it came out that the arsons were staged. The businesses had hired out individuals to perform the arsons so they could collect the insurance money. The whole affair, taking place on New Haven’s most fashionable street, caused a media frenzy. In court, when the business owners were asked who was responsible for orchestrating the arsons, each kept their silence. 

The men were all convicted, but more than a few people suspected who had taken the role as the orchestrator. Nothing officially linked Goldfinger, the man now walking towards Jaehwan, to the case aside from his own reputation. 

Goldfinger and men like him make beds with merchants and politicians alike, speaking fluently in the language of money. While it is common knowledge that Goldfinger keeps bad company, he also keeps such a sanitized public image that his appearance in Red Room bats barely an eye, although he has a more than a few fingers in the illicit pleasure district and gang affiliations. 

Goldfinger shoves his hands in his deep pockets, inclining his head as he looks down his nose at Jaehwan as if deciding what kind of insect he is. His characteristic slicked back blond hair and pale blue eyes immediately triggered his identity in Jaehwan’s mind. Jaehwan has seen him on occasion and served him once, but it was not his voice that Jaehwan recognized. 

No, the one he recognized now climbs out of the booth, her lilac dress whispering across the leather seat, her dainty gloved hands covering her heart as she takes in the sight unfolding in the aisle. Taekwoon’s mother recognizes Jaehwan instantly. 

Goldfinger says, “I suppose we need to have a chat with your manager.” He lays a hand on his grunt’s arm so that he releases Jaehwan. Jaehwan trembles as the two large men now have him boxed in against the booth, but he stands his ground even as they loom over him. Better to not look guilty.

He pulls his rag out of his pocket and dons his most innocent look, batting his eyelashes––a trick that usually works. “Just cleaning the table.” He does his best not to look at Taekwoon’s mother; he knows that if he looks at her he may betray his true thoughts in his expression. 

Goldfinger looks at the grunt, obviously someone acting as muscle for him even though Goldfinger seems pretty capable himself. His pin-striped suit does nothing to hide his wide chest and bulging biceps. Goldfinger inquires of him, “What’d you see?”  
“He had his ear pressed up against the divider. He wasn’t cleaning nothin’.” 

Jaehwan gestures with his rag, about to argue his piece, when Taekwoon’s mother lays a hand on Goldfingers’s shoulder, pushing him aside to squeeze through. “I know this boy.” 

Goldfinger bristles, rage now evident on his face. His eyes narrow to slits. “If you––”

She silences him with a freezing look. “He is a friend of my son’s. You certainly remember that I became reacquainted with him recently.” She looks back at Jaehwan with a soft smile in place, but Jaehwan can see the disconnect between her smile and her eyes. “If he had been listening in, I’m sure it was a case of curiosity more than anything. Is that right?” 

Jaehwan glances between Goldfinger and Miss Song. He knows that he toes a delicate line. He nods his head, and she smiles wider at him. She rests her gloved hand on the space between his shoulder and neck, squeezing slightly. “Such a nice young man.” She turns to look over her shoulder. “Can you excuse us for a moment?” 

Goldfinger exchanges a look with her before waving off his grunt. “Take a walk,” he grumbles. 

They leave, Goldfinger sliding back into the booth and the grunt backing several feet away. Miss Song, however, stays close to Jaehwan, now using her other hand to comb the hair that curls under Jaehwan’s ear. She has not released him yet. Shivers run up his spine from her hands. “I apologize about their behavior,” she says, her soft voice pricking each and every one of Jaehwan’s instincts. “When it comes to men like that I am afraid they act first and listen later.”

Jaehwan shifts a bit, and she drops her hand from his hair but keeps a hold on him. He tells her, “I thought I heard your voice, but I didn’t want to make a fool of myself so I was trying to be discreet.” He licks his lips. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“No harm done.” She smiles, but once again Jaehwan spies the disconnect. Dread curls in his stomach. “What was your name again?”

Through his dry mouth, he mumbles, “Jaehwan.” 

“No, your surname.”

He hesitates, stomach clenching. “Lee.”

“Lee Jaehwan––lovely name. Is it the one you were given?”

Jaehwan fumbles for words. “Ex- Excuse me?” 

“Was that the name given to you at birth?” 

“Jaehwan is my birth-name, but I– I had no surname.” Jaehwan shifted, not liking the conversation. 

“What made you choose Lee?” Miss Song tilts her head, but her fingers still linger on Jaehwan’s neck, undercutting her curiosity with something…else. “My son,” she says, “goes by a different surname, and I was just wondering about it.” 

Jaehwan did not choose a surname for himself until he arrived at Heo’s house and had experienced proper care for the first time in his life. He needed one to apply for school, and he chose his name after Yeonju, who was always so kind to him. When Heo looked at Jaehwan’s application, he made no comment but Jaehwan swore he saw a smile. 

But Jaehwan will not hand such a warm memory to this person. So Jaehwan lies. “I– I don’t know. I just liked the way it sounded.” 

This answer must disappoint Taekwoon’s mother as her smile falls. “Hmm, what about my son?” 

“I have no idea,” Jaehwan lies. He licks his lips. “Why not ask him?”

The two lock eyes, and Jaehwan feels the hand tighten marginally on his neck before it slides away. “Of course,” she says. “Of course, I just wondered. But while I have you here….” Miss Song gathers his hands in hers, and anyone who came across them might think Jaehwan was being thanked by an overly-friendly customer. Not much harm could come from a kind woman like her. “I just wanted to thank you for being a friend to my son. Last night––well, it could have gone better, but I want you to know that _I_ know things must have been hard for you both. The more I get to know him, the more I can see that he clearly cares for you.” 

She gives Jaehwan’s hands a squeeze. “So I would be careful who you poke around, especially _private_ conversations. If I was not here, I am sure they would have done much worse than ruffled your collar. You understand, yes?”

Jaehwan cannot even nod as he sorts through her words. 

She pats his hand and Jaehwan does his best not to flinch away. “Now I am sure you have a busy night ahead, and this has all gone on too long. Do tell Taekwoon I said hello.” She backs away to her table and slides in. Jaehwan can hear Goldfinger’s gruff voice ask if she has finished, and at eleven-sixteen, Jaehwan has forgotten about his tables and only one thought remains.

_Tell Taekwoon_. 

Jaehwan fast-walks down the aisle, away from their table, and he shudders as he feels the ghost of Miss Song’s hands on his skin. She met with Goldfinger. Goldfinger threatened Jaehwan. Taekwoon’s mother also…threatened him as well? She saved him from Goldfinger’s brute force, but what kind of sentiments had she left with him? Jaehwan hated the subtle violent intention behind her words, the look in her eyes as she hinted to Jaehwan to mind his own business. 

She would be mistaken if she expected Jaehwan to stay silent about what transpired.

Jaehwan curls his hands into fists that shake at his sides. His knees wobble as he walks to the main entrance. He could try to catch Taekwoon at the exorcist’s shop. What time is it? Will Taekwoon still be there? 

Jaehwan sighs in relief when his manager is nowhere to be found, and the hostess only briefly questions him as he heads for the front door. Jaehwan waves his hand, claiming to be on break. He’ll be quick, he promises. The hostess raises her brows but shrugs––it is not her job to keep track of employees.

Outside, people traipse up and down the street, bustling under the neon signs and stumbling into their equally-as-drunk friends. Red Room’s location invites its rich patrons to mingle with New Haven’s “rougher” crowd, but the worst that has happened on this street cannot compare to the real dangerous parts of the city. 

Even so, Jaehwan steels himself as he walks to the telephone booth, just across the street. It sits directly under the lamplight. Jaehwan merges with the crowds of people, his quick breaths clouding in front of his face, darting into the road once it is clear. Jaehwan shuts himself inside the booth. He picks up the sticky handle, and after slipping a coin into the payphone, he dials the exorcists’ number from memory. 

After three rings, Sanghyuk picks up. He starts to rattle off the store name, thinking this is a normal business call, but Jaehwan cuts across him as he says, “It’s Jaehwan; is Taekwoon still there? Please, it’s really important.”

“Sorry, he’s already left.”

Jaehwan slams his hand against the telephone box, exhaling through clenched teeth. Sanghyuk must hear him, because he tentatively asks, “Is everything okay?” 

“No. Yes, I mean. It’s fine.” He bites his lip to stop from over-spilling. “I’ll talk to him when I get home.” 

A pause. “Should I– Should I go after him? He left awhile ago, but I can go out and tell him that you called at least.” 

The selfish part of Jaehwan wants to say yes. And then the rest of him, the more clear-headed part, remembers the holes in Sanghyuk’s neck, how he caused Sanghyuk to bleed because of his stupid mistake. “No,” he says. “Stay inside.” He forces his voice to take on a lighter tone. “It’s really not that big of a deal; I just thought I’d call if he was still there.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” 

“Yeah, thanks anyway, Sanghyuk. I appreciate it.” Jaehwan finishes the call, hanging up the phone. He stares at the grimy buttons, forcing himself to believe that everything is fine. Some merchants, especially the ones on top, are known to make deals with criminals. Should he be shocked that the head of Tradewind does as well?

_Does Taekwoon know already?_

Jaehwan presses his forehead to the cold exterior of the telephone box. He wishes more than anything for Taekwoon to have been on the other end. But even as he thinks it, Jaehwan can hear Taekwoon’s voice in his head, refuting all that he says. 

_Doing business with a less-than-reputable partner does not mean she’s a bad_ person. _I mean, I’m still friends with you._

Jaehwan wraps his arms around himself, the air’s cold bite bothersome now that he no longer has a reason to be outside. He sighs, closing the booth’s door behind him and heading back to work. 

Embarrassment burns his cheeks. He already _had_ a poor opinion of Taekwoon’s mother, and she had talked to him directly after he had been rattled by Goldfinger, someone that Jaehwan rightly fears. Perhaps Jaehwan had read the situation wrong. Perhaps he read too much into it. 

It is eleven-twenty-five when Jaehwan returns to work, and his tables are in an uproar. His manager interrogates him as to where he was and continues to berate him, explaining how Heeyeon tried covering for him as long as she could until vomiting everything inside her. Jaehwan feels a pang of guilt. The manager sends Heeyeon home, but Jaehwan manages to find her and thank her several times before she leaves, before he has to plunge into the rest of his shift.

His manager warns him to make no more personal calls while on the clock.

Seokjin catches Jaehwan by the elbow, asking, “What was that about?” But the manager is still eyeing him, and Jaehwan sullenly tells his friend, “I’ll tell you later.” 

Seokjin does not look satisfied, but with the purpose of keeping Jaehwan out of trouble, he nods and leaves to get ready for his set. 

Jaehwan returns to work after that. Between checking his tables, he sneaks a look at the private booth inhabited by Goldfinger and Taekwoon’s mother but finds it empty. He is not sure when they left, but the booth has already been wiped down, and when Jaehwan does a sweep of the room, he sees no sign of them. 

With his tables back under control and knowing he has done all that he can, Jaehwan’s mind once again begins settle. He will relay to Taekwoon what happened once he gets home, and then Taekwoon can do whatever he will with the information. As much as he may want to, Jaehwan will make sure he does not make unfair connections between what Miss Song said and what he thinks she may have meant. He will be fair and––

“Excuse me, there.”

Jaehwan feels the tug on his shirt-sleeve, the fingers catching him as he walks by. He turns. “Yes?”

Seated at a small table near the back is the man that asked to speak with Taekwoon at the party. Nigel, if Jaehwan remembers correctly. Blond hair pushed back away from the face, skinny as a pipe, the man leans closer to Jaehwan but fixes his eyes on the tablecloth as if slightly embarrassed. “I know you’re not my server, but I’d like to place an order for alcohol.”

This is not Jaehwan’s section, but despite the invasion of space, Jaehwan softens at the man’s sheepish look. “Alright,” he says, “I’ll find them for you.” 

“Please,” the man insists. “I’ve been waiting for awhile now, and I’d just really like to place my order.” His tone is not unkind but it leaves no room for negotiation. 

Jaehwan presses his lips together. He of all people should not complain about someone leaving their table unattended, and the night is still slow…. He asks, “What kind would you like to order?”

The man, Nigel, shrugs. “Anything’d be fine. Whole bottle, please.”

“So you’d like to be surprised.”

“Sure. Surprise me.” 

Jaehwan bustles away, shaking his head. He returns from the kitchen five minutes later, a glass and a bottle of wine ready. He pours the man a glass. 

It is eleven-thirty as Seokjin ascends the stage. 

“Would you like to join me?”

Jaehwan has heard the words often enough to not react in surprise, and when he finishes pouring the wine, he sets the bottle before the man. He offers a tight smile. “I don’t drink with customers.” And even if he did, Nigel might be the complete opposite of his type. The slight bit of empathy he had now wanes thin. 

But Nigel says, “Do I…I remember you from somewhere? From last night’s party, right?” He may as well not have heard Jaehwan. “Are you close with that wizard? Taekwoon is his name, correct?” 

“Yes, yes, and yes.” Jaehwan readjusts his now-empty tray under his arm. In his head, he hears Taekwoon hiss the word “apprentice,” but Jaehwan fixates on a different clarification. He says, “We’re friends.” He looks back to the stage as Seokjin begins his first song. 

“He’s talented, your friend,” Nigel appraises, but he does not mean Seokjin. He swirls the wine around in his glass, watching it slosh against the rim. “He was telling me about the differences between some sort of roots, but I couldn’t keep track of it all.” He chuckles, looking back up to Jaehwan again. “And then he went racing after you. Hope everything was alright.” 

Jaehwan blinks, taking a half-step back. “Yes, it was,” he answers, voice tight. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” But the man is far from done. He continues, as if oblivious to Jaehwan’s impatience. “I heard that Song Jieun is planning something. I’ve heard her asking after daughters of business partners and rivals alike.” Nigel gives Jaehwan a meaningful look, and it takes Jaehwan a moment to understand his meaning. “Would you know anything about that?”

Flustered, Jaehwan states, “I’m sorry; I do recognize you from the party, but I have absolutely no idea who you are.” 

“Pardon me. Where are my manners? The name’s Nigel. I only work under others, so you’ve likely never heard of me, but Song Jieun and I have,” he smiles, “an interesting relationship.” 

Jaehwan thinks back to how she greeted the man, using his first name and eager to hand over Taekwoon to him. Jaehwan furrows his brows. “You both looked friendly to me.” 

“Oh, of course.” Nigel waves a hand, laughing. “I used to work for her but not anymore.” His clipped words leave much unsaid, but he adds in a brighter tone, “I stay friendly, though.” He takes a sip of wine. “And thanks to that I hear things through the grapevine.” 

_Things. What sorts of things?_

Jaehwan, once so eager to leave the this man be, finds this new curiosity deadening that impulse. He grips his tray tighter, feigning a nonchalant expression. “And what would those be?”

“All sorts,” Nigel confesses. He does a quick look around him before saying in a lower tone, “Some not so credible, but I do know that the one thing holding her back has been the absence of an heir. It’s no coincidence that she’s been chatting with every eligible girl in New Haven.” He shrugs. “Your friend is a fair catch. Knowledgeable and powerful to boot if a little odd. He’d likely marry someone of his mother’s choosing, but if he did, he’d be one of New Haven’s richest men.” 

Jaehwan’s mouth goes dry. “And– And there’s no way he could inherit without marrying?”

Nigel drains his glass, helping himself to the bottle. Wine sloshes into the glass, drops splashing out onto the tablecloth. “Well,” he drawls, lengthening the pause, “I doubt she would lock him out, but look at her position now. I doubt Tradewind’s board of directors would settle for your friend as he is now––unwed and childless––and to satisfy them, she might pressure him to take a wife.” 

Jaehwan’s tray slips out of his hands. Nigel exclaims as the tray hits the floor, but Jaehwan picks it up faster than Nigel can reach for it. Jaehwan’s fingers tremble as he takes it back into his grasp, Nigel’s words on a loop in his head. 

_Is that her game? To take Taekwoon away? To absorb him into the world of corporate politics without considering what_ Taekwoon _wants?_

He was right. To Taekwoon’s mother, Taekwoon is another bartering piece, a convenience, a powerful tool to leverage against her rivals. Now that she and her son have been reunited, she can have him inherit. Now that he has been exposed to the upper class, he can be exploited for all he is worth. Jaehwan’s knuckles turn white, his body tense. 

His mind drifts back to that girl tugging on Taekwoon’s hair, but this time more hands touch Taekwoon’s chest, his shoulders, his hair, and Taekwoon grows more and more terrified as he is absorbed, consumed, by the mass of hands decorated in fine gems and satin gloves. Jaehwan shuts the vision out, grinding his back teeth together, but the truth remains. They all want to pick apart Taekwoon for themselves, ignoring his true merit. 

He hears Nigel remark upon something, but Jaehwan states, “You’re wrong.”

Nigel blinks at him, taken aback by Jaehwan’s frigid tone. “I’m sorry?”

“He’s _not_ odd. And he doesn’t care about some stupid inheritance.” 

Nigel holds up his hands in a placating gesture to ward off Jaehwan’s indignation. “Alright, alright.” His smile, however, remains in place. “What’s his day-to-day like, huh? Does he make ends meet? If he accepts, he can make the money work for _him_.”

“At the price of marrying a stranger.”

“A price some would accept.” Nigel waves his hand behind him to gesture at the room. “How do you think they all married? How many do you think are in love?” Nigel motions for Jaehwan to come closer, and curiosity once again wins. Nigel holds up a hand and whispers to Jaehwan, his smile curling against the shell of Jaehwan’s ear.

“How many do you think dally outside of those marriages? With each other? I can assure you that there will still be room for you.”

Jaehwan inhales a sharp breath as something sharp pricks his neck; it is eleven-forty-three.

Jaehwan jerks back and slaps a hand over the spot…but finds he does none of these things. He remains completely still, hunched next to Nigel. Nigel then pulls his head back, his grin growing wider, showing too many teeth. “Or not,” he says. “You could always find another.” He pats the back of Jaehwan’s hand and takes the tray out from under Jaehwan’s arm. 

Jaehwan wants to lurch backwards, throw himself away from the blond man, but his immobilized body prevents him. 

Nigel drops the tray onto the table without watching where it lands. He pushes his chair back and stands. He then puts a finger under Jaehwan’s chin to lift his head, and he puts a hand on the small of his back to bring him up straight. Whatever Nigel did, it seems that Jaehwan’s body has been made puppet-like, only responding to the touch of another. Nigel then locks his elbows with Jaehwan and begins to walk. 

Jaehwan’s feet follow. 

Jaehwan’s heart beats fasts, like a carriage with the horses cut loose. His breaths come out hard, and his chest hurts. Nigel walks them around the table to the back exit, less than ten feet away. The glowing red letters warn Jaehwan, but it is too late to realize the danger he has found himself in. 

Jaehwan’s eyes are the only thing under his own control, and he scours the scene for someone––anyone––he knows. But the empty section offers no witnesses to what unfolds.

“If you had agreed to drink with me, I may not have resorted to using other methods to get you to come with me.” Nigel chuckles to himself, leading Jaehwan through the exit, the cold air blowing right through his thin shirt. Down the stairs they go, making a right to walk deeper into the alley, away from the buzz of the street. “I’ve heard you’re a bit easy, and at first, I didn’t believe them, but then I mention the wizard and it’s true. It was so _easy_.” Nigel laughs, finding this point hilarious.

Jaehwan harshly exhales, the only way he can make sound, and Nigel seems to think this funny too. They walk farther from Red Room, farther from where his friends think he is. Jaehwan tries again to dig his heels into the sidewalk, but they obediently follow Nigel. 

They trample trash under their feet, Nigel taking no care where they step. His eyes are fixed forward, toward the end of the alley. The alley meets another, but squeezed between two buildings, a carriage awaits. Nigel calls to it, “Come out, you ungrateful bastard.”

The carriage door opens, a leather shoe stepping onto the runner before the rest of the body emerges from the darkness. Another blond head appears, Goldfinger’s twist of a smile sending chills down Jaehwan’s spine. 

Goldfinger wiggles his fingers at Jaehwan in a mockery of a greeting. “You thought we’d let you go after that?” He pops a lit cigar into his mouth, green smoke fanning into the air. His eyes glint as he watches Nigel walk Jaehwan to the carriage. He lets out a cruel laugh and checks up and down the side-street before looking back at Nigel. “Hurry and finish this up.” 

Nigel releases Jaehwan, and as soon as he does Jaehwan tries to bolt. Jaehwan is still immobile, however. Nigel pulls out a small square cloth and a bottle from his pocket and douses the cloth with the liquid in the bottle. 

Jaehwan’s heart rockets in his chest; his head feels close to exploding as he watches in horror as Nigel raises the cloth to his face, the smell burning his nose and his eyes. “Breathe,” Nigel coaxes. Jaehwan’s eyes roll back, and he slips further and further into darkness. “Breathe.” 

At eleven-fifty-four, Nigel’s smiling face is the last Jaehwan sees. 

Midnight strikes before anyone realizes Jaehwan has shirked work once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- sorry for the long wait!  
> \- the next updates will probably grouped together because /we're so close to the end now/  
> \- thanks for having patience with me!


	10. Chapter 10

The last bundle of dragon-mint catches fire, and Taekwoon breathes a sigh of relief as he extinguishes the flame from the tip of his finger. He presses his palms against his eyes. He neglected the box of matches in the kitchen drawer in favor of using his own magic to light he small bundles of dragon-mint around the house. 

Pungent smoke rises from the pale-green leaves.

Taekwoon has spent the last two hours redoing every protection that Wonsik first implemented on their house. He had no idea such a thing occurred, but as he and Jaehwan agreed, he paid the exorcists a visit to get suggestions for courses of actions to take. He carefully neglected telling them the events of the weekend, as Jaehwan mentioned that the exorcists may be unwilling to help should they know the demon tried to attack him _again_. 

Taekwoon regrets omitting that fact, but Taekwoon more so wants the demon gone. Even if that means not coming forward with all the facts. 

For the first time, Taekwoon better understands why Jaehwan kept so much from him. 

Wonsik and Sanghyuk were eager to help. The younger still wore bandages around his neck, but he moved with a spring in his step, and never hinted the fight with the demon rattled him in the least. Jaehwan filled him in on the backlog of attempts sending the thing, so he knows that Sanghyuk suffered because of it. Which makes Taekwoon feel worse about hiding the details of their weekend. 

Wonsik offered to redo the protections, but Taekwoon waved him off. Partially because even though these two are Hongbin’s friends, they still have to charge for services, but also, deep down, it hurts Taekwoon’s ego to know that someone else had laid protections on his house. 

Of course, Jaehwan already apologized for keeping secrets, and everything is _fine_ , but the weekend’s events, if Taekwoon thinks too deeply of them––being passed around at his mother’s party, discovering Jaehwan nearly burned out, sitting on the sidelines and unable to help at Kyungsoo’s––makes Taekwoon feel quite useless. 

He is quite capable of laying protections on the house. 

Taekwoon sits back on his heels, breathing in the dragon-mint smoke. The smoke sets off a pleasant tingling sensation in his head, and he breathes it in for a few more seconds before getting up. Exorcists and mediums use dragon-mint to purge negative energies from spaces, and in large enough doses, the smoke helps ease a person’s own worries, helping them relax. 

Taekwoon rubs at his eyes again, walking back to the living room. It was his own pride and ego that waved away Wonsik’s offer, but as soon as he left the shop, Taekwoon regretted his decision. He craves sleep more than anything else, and it would have been nice to let someone else do the job. 

It was just one job of many, however. 

Taekwoon scrubbed Jaehwan’s blood off the floor and had to right all the furniture, which took longer than he first imagined. It chilled him to find more and more spatters of blood, finding it on the kitchen table, on the walls…. Taekwoon left alone the scorch marks engraved in the floor and the back of the couch. 

Also, the front door will need proper fixing. As a temporary solution, Taekwoon pressed the door in place and used his magic as a sort of sealant to hold it shut. The flimsy spell will break as soon as Jaehwan tries to open it, but it will have to do for tonight. 

Taekwoon walks through the house to check on the various bowls of dragon-mint and Kyungsoo’s wards. The wards, strung over chairs and other furniture, remain silent as he passes. They alert for demonic presences, and Taekwoon cannot help tensing whenever he walks by.

He returns to the living room, as he has done all he can for the night.

On the train ride home, he and Jaehwan constructed a loose plan for sending the demon. Jaehwan bounced his leg the whole while, jittering with fear of being late, but he managed to focus well enough. He and Taekwoon will spend the next two days (and hopefully no longer) hunting the demon with Wonsik and Sanghyuk’s help. Jaehwan has the day off tomorrow, and he mentioned trying to have someone cover his next shift so the search can continue if need be. Earlier, Taekwoon cleared this idea with the exorcists, and they made themselves available––especially with the price Taekwoon offered them.

Taekwoon drops onto the couch, barely able to stand any longer. As soon as he hits the cushions, though, he knows he has made a mistake. The warm and soft cushions comfort him, his eyelids much too heavy. He wanted to stay awake until Jaehwan made it home, but he will not last at this rate. 

A brief thought flits across his mind. What if he meets Jaehwan at work, and they walk home together? Taekwoon quickly discards the idea. He has never done such a thing before, and Jaehwan has walked to and from work all these weeks. Even if Taekwoon views it as a way to stay awake, Jaehwan may see it differently. He may think Taekwoon means to coddle him, and the last thing Taekwoon wants is to insult him. 

Besides, there may be a small portion of him that would feel better if he could walk Jaehwan home. 

And that side of him needs no encouragement. It would be different if Jaehwan asked him or told him it was alright; it would be different if Taekwoon did not already have an issue with overstepping. It would be different if Taekwoon was not already so tired, and he was looking for excuses to stay awake. 

Taekwoon scowls, swiping his hands over his face. Sharing the bed with Jaehwan last night had, predictably, made him more tired as he spent many minutes measuring the space between them and confining himself to one side of the bed. Today’s events did not help either. Traveling to Old Haven and braving the train (twice) probably helped in making Taekwoon feel as if he has been hit by one. 

There should be no shame in wanting rest. 

Taekwoon’s ever-present worry nags at him, though. He pulls his legs up onto the couch, resting his head against one of the pillows, and the dragon-mint does its best to convince him otherwise. 

He fights himself; he tries to shake off the warm, comfortable feeling of laying here. He needs to stay awake, he needs to find a book or anything else and wait for Jaehwan, but the dragon-mint encourages the voice in his head that reasons that even should he fall asleep, he will hear Jaehwan come in. He may have temporarily patched the door, but his reparations in no way made it sound-proof. 

A little rest should be fine. 

Taekwoon opens his eyes, finding that something warm has spread over him, and his first inclination is to roll onto his side, to relish the feeling, but then he blinks again, realizing that the warmth he feels is sunshine. Sunshine streams through the window, casting the couch in light. 

Morning. 

Taekwoon sits up, his chest tight from moving too quickly. He looks at the front door. 

Heo has always been adamant that Taekwoon and Jaehwan take their shoes off at the door, and like all of Heo’s rules and habits, they absorbed it, carrying on despite his absence. Taekwoon’s eyes dart to the row of shoes, but he does not see Jaehwan’s. 

Taekwoon looks around him. The clock on the wall reads that it is eight in the morning, not as early as Taekwoon hoped. He left on almost every light, and the bowls of dragon-mint that he can see burned out long ago. Without the dragon-mint’s influence, a knot tightens in Taekwoon’s stomach, and he stands, wobbling slightly with one foot asleep. The pins and needles travel through his numb foot and up his calf as he hobbles to the staircase. 

He calls upstairs, “Jaehwan?”

No response. 

Taekwoon looks back the front door, and as he becomes more and more awake, he already knows he what he will find should he inspect it. Either way, Taekwoon limps to the doorway, the bunging feeling in his stomach worsening with every step. He already knows that his magic has been undisturbed even before he looks at the edges, faint traces of magic still holding it shut. 

No one tried to enter in the night. 

Taekwoon runs a hand through his knotted hair, and he shoves his feet into his boots, neglecting to tie the laces. Taekwoon’s breaths have started to come out quicker and much more shallow. 

Jaehwan could be on his way home right now. Who could know? 

Taekwoon bites his lower lip as he clenches and unclenches his fists. He charges back up the stairs, trying to calm himself. What if this is a misunderstanding? What if there is no reason to panic? 

“Jaehwan?” Taekwoon crests the landing, however, to find Jaehwan’s door wide open, the Chaos tome lay on the bed along with Jaehwan’s amulet, just as they were dumped from his bag last night. His bed looks practically untouched, and Taekwoon’s heart rockets in his chest. 

He throws open the door to his own room, scooping up his coat, and jogs back down the stairs. He opens the front door to step into the frigid morning air, effectively dislodging his spell. 

It’s alright, he tells himself. Jaehwan’s fine, he assures. He has friends he works with; he could have stayed out with them. Right? 

Taekwoon reaches the telephone booth at the end of their street, and his fingers tremble as he types in the number. His coat does little to stop the cold air from attacking him, his flimsy shirt and pants let the cold chill him, and his breaths come out in feverish white puffs. 

“Hello?”

“Hongbin, is Jaehwan there? It’s Taekwoon.” His voice wavers, a fierce shiver running through him.

“No,” Hongbin says slowly. Taekwoon hears the sleep clinging to his voice; he must have woken him. “Should he be?”

“I– I don’t think he came home last night.” Taekwoon tries to keep his voice flat, affecting a calm demeanor, but memories resurface from the last time Jaehwan went missing, when he left Taekwoon without explanation. 

_No, this is different._

“He _what_?” Hongbin sounds much more awake now. 

“He told me he works at Red Room, but I don’t know much else. Like, I don’t think he’s ever not come home after a shift. I don’t know if I can call––”

“No, they’ll be closed by now.” Hongbin clears his throat. Taekwoon imagines Hongbin dressed in pajamas, holding the phone in one hand as the other hand presses against his forehead. “And he was supposed to come home afterward?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

Taekwoon, after looking around the street but finding it deserted, gives Hongbin a condensed version of the past two days, explaining their plans for demon-hunting today. He trails off at the end, though, shutting his eyes. His breath shudders in his chest. 

_Jaehwan’s fine; he’s_ fine.

An uncomfortable silence follows as Hongbin processes the information. His voice then crackles into the receiver: “I’ll be honest. Something could have come up, and he just hasn’t made it home yet, but…. But if he knew that you had plans together, he would be home if he could.”

“I– Should I check with Seokjin? They were supposed to work together last night––I think. And I guess I’ll call Hakyeon––”

“Don’t worry about him; he’s here.” Hongbin clears his throat again. “Jaehwan’s probably fine, Taekwoon. You know how he is.” Hongbin’s voice, however, lacks the conviction that Taekwoon needs to here. 

He swallows. “Right.”

“Call and let me know, okay?”

“I will.”

Taekwoon returns to the house, snagging his satchel and stuffing Jaehwan’s amulet inside. He copies down Kyungsoo’s shop number just in case, and on the back of a envelope, Taekwoon writes, “Jaehwan––call Hongbin when you get the chance.” Taekwoon grabs some coins from his own coin purse and leaves them inside the envelope. 

He seals the door shut behind him and attaches the envelope to the door, whispering an enchantment to make it stay. 

Taekwoon then heads to Seokjin’s apartment, hoping desperately for him to be home. Better yet if Jaehwan is with him. Taekwoon pictures himself knocking on the door, Seokjin answering, and Jaehwan bounding to the door behind him, chiding Taekwoon for over-reacting. Taekwoon would be embarrassed if he truly is over-reacting, but better to feel a bit of embarrassment afterward than do nothing now. 

_Please, let it be a misunderstanding. Please, let Jaehwan be there._

The possibility of using a locator spell runs through Taekwoon’s mind, but even as he thinks of it, he already nixes the idea. When Jaehwan was purposefully avoiding him, he had held on to enough of Taekwoon’s magic lessons to know how to block the spell. If Taekwoon used the spell now and it turned out he _is_ over-reacting, then he could hurt Jaehwan’s feelings. It would invade his privacy. 

But misunderstandings are just that––misunderstandings.

Jaehwan will forgive him, right?

As a compromise, Taekwoon promises himself to use the spell only when he exhausts all other leads. 

Taekwoon approaches the apartment complex he thinks belongs to Seokjin. But at this point, he has no way of knowing. He just needs to try. 

The more he stares at the building the more convinced Taekwoon becomes that he is in the right place, and he finds his way to Seokjin’s door––or what he hopes is his door––with an mediocre amount of confidence. He crosses his fingers. He knocks. 

He may not even be on the right floor. Is this really the right building?

The door cracks open to reveal just a sliver of the person standing there. Seokjin. Taekwoon cannot believe that he remembered correctly, but before he feels too good about it, he registers the look on Seokjin’s face. 

The chain in the lock separates Seokjin from Taekwoon, but Seokjin’s crestfallen expression says it all. He expected someone else. Seokjin shuts the door, and Taekwoon hears the rattling of the chain, and then Seokjin throws the door wide open, enough for Taekwoon to see all of him.

Seokjin grips the doorframe with one hand, the other tight on the door itself. His eyes dart over Taekwoon’s shoulder as if searching for someone hiding behind him. 

Taekwoon’s heart sinks. 

He opens his mouth to ask, but Seokjin beats him to it. “Is Jaehwan with you?”

_No. No, this can’t be happening._

Taekwoon tries to swallow down the emotion rising inside him, but the perplexed look on Seokjin’s face worsens it. “I,” he takes a deep breath, “I wanted to ask you that.” 

Seokjin rests his forehead on the door, exhaling a long breath of his own. “No,” he whispers. “He’s not here.” 

Taekwoon shuffles forward, dropping his voice. “Did you work with him last night? He never–– He–– He was supposed to come home.” 

“Yeah,” Seokjin answers, voice coming out strained. He looks back up at Taekwoon, and Taekwoon hates the look on his face, crumpling with confusion and the beginnings of panic. “At some point last night, he left. That’s what everyone assumed because no one had seen him.” Seokjin presses his palms to his temples. “I knew–– _I knew_ ––something was wrong because he wouldn’t just _leave_ , y’know?

“He disappeared once early in the shift, and our friend Heeyeon covered for him, but she didn’t know where he went. He showed back up though, and our manager railed into him for it.” Seokjin shakes his head. “I tries asking him about it, but he said he’d tell me later. I had a set to do, and I think he was worried about getting in trouble again, so I couldn’t press him for details.

“But after I finished, he was just _gone_.”

“He never finished his shift?’

Seokjin continues, shrugging helplessly, “I don’t know how, but no one knew where he was, and no one saw him leave. At first I thought it was like earlier and he would come back, but Jaehwan just doesn’t leave work. And this time he didn’t come back.” 

Seokjin looks to Taekwoon with frantic eyes. He says, “I tried telling our manager, but he just thought he was shirking again, and I had no way to know if he actually went home or not.” 

“When do you think you last saw him?”

“Eleven-thirty?” Seokjin shrugs again. “That’s when my set started, and I talked to him right before that.”

“Is there anyone…. Would he have left with anyone?” 

“No. Not at all.” Something in Taekwoon’s face must prompt Seokjin, because he supplements, “He has a strict policy of only leaving with friends. Heeyeon left early, earlier than Jaehwan, and he didn’t leave with me. And apparently not you.”

Taekwoon steps back from Seokjin’s door, mind already racing ahead, far into the streets of New Haven. He may not know where Jaehwan is, but he has to go. He cannot stand here any longer. 

“Where are you going?” Seokjin calls behind him. Taekwoon blanches, looking over his shoulder at Seokjin, who half-hangs out his door with concern stark on his face. 

Taekwoon simply says, “To look for him.”

Seokjin points a finger at him and instructs, “Don’t leave yet!” Jaehwan said nothing about Seokjin being a magic-user, but some sort of magic rooted Taekwoon to the spot. He wants to move; he wants to be out there looking for Jaehwan. 

But Taekwoon finds himself waiting for Seokjin anyway. 

Seokjin reappears at his side with a coat and shoes, saying as he fights to put his arms in the sleeves, “I’m coming too. I can help.” 

Something inside Taekwoon wants to tell him to stay behind. Taekwoon pushes down his knee-jerk reaction, though. Seokjin knows more about Red Room than him and he cannot afford to refuse his help. So instead, Taekwoon bites his tongue and focuses his energy on what to do next. 

He and Seokjin descend the stairwell, and when Taekwoon spots the phone booth he and Jaehwan used just yesterday, he darts toward it.

“Who are you calling?” 

“A friend,” Taekwoon mumbles and types in the exorcists’ shop number. 

The younger exorcist answers the phone in a cheerful tone, and Taekwoon feels only half-bad about cutting off his greeting with, “It’s Taekwoon. Hongbin’s friend.” He swallows hard and turns slightly as Seokjin stares at him while he talks. “Um, Jaehwan isn’t there, is he?” 

“Uh, no? Should he?”

“Well, uh, Jaehwan never came home last night.” 

Silence answers Taekwoon. It stretches for so long that he has to say, “Hello? Sanghyuk, are you still there?” 

“Yeah, I– I’m here. Wait, so what do you mean he didn’t come home?” 

“I mean that he didn’t come home,” Taekwoon answers gruffly. He stops and sighs, mentally noting that none of this is Sanghyuk’s fault. “I just wanted to let you guys know that we won’t––”

“He called here last night. Late last night.” Sanghyuk’s voice sounds small, and he says the words slowly as if not sure of them. “It was awhile after left. He said he had something to tell you, but I told him you were gone.” 

An electric shock runs through Taekwoon, and he demands, “What’d he say? What’d he tell you?” He grips the phone with enough force to break it. 

At this point, Seokjin has picked up that _something_ is being communicated through the line, and he perks up. “What? What’s going on?”

Sanghyuk stammers, “He wouldn’t tell me. He said it wasn’t a big deal, but it was weird because he sounded, like, worried when he first called.” A beat of silence passes, and then Sanghyuk hisses, “I knew I should’ve gotten you, but he said not to.” 

“What’s he saying?” Seokjin asks with wide eyes. “What’s happening?”

Jaehwan wanted to tell him something. Something that he did not want to share with Sanghyuk. It was urgent enough to make him call–– Was that why he left work the first time? To call? He wanted to tell him something, so why had Jaehwan not come home? 

Did something keep him from doing just that?

Sanghyuk rambles into the phone, and Taekwoon tunes back in to hear him starting to go hysterical. He cuts across him with, “Sanghyuk, listen. It’s fine.” He tries for the most soothing voice he can manage. “I’m trying to find him right now with some of his friends––” Seokjin gives him an encouraging smile, “––but, Sanghyuk, can you put Wonsik on?”

A few seconds pass as Sanghyuk transfers the phone, and Wonsik answers with an uneasy, “Hello?” Likely thanks to hearing only Sanghyuk’s side of the conversation. 

Taekwoon relays the situation one more time and requests, “If he happens to come by, can you please call Hongbin?” 

“Alright.”

Taekwoon adds, “Don’t let Sanghyuk worry too much.” Easier said than done, but Taekwoon does not like the way Sanghyuk sounded before he passed over the phone. 

“We’ll see about that,” Wonsik sighs. “And, y’know, if you find him, you call as soon as you can, okay?”

Taekwoon promises and finishes the call, but he has only a small reprieve before Seokjin lurches forward, a hand on Taekwoon’s arm, asking for details. Taekwoon explains as much as he needs to, even though all he would like to do is kick something over. 

But now with something concrete to work with, a calculating look crosses Seokjin’s face. “He wanted to tell you something. And then he disappeared.” Seokjin rustles in his pocket, inserting change into the phone’s slot. “Can I?” 

Taekwoon passes him the phone and stands by as Seokjin calls several people, one of them Heeyeon, to explain Jaehwan’s disappearance. Not that there is much to explain; all they know is that he was here and now he is not. The last person must be Red Room’s manager because Seokjin’s voice takes on a firm tone as he asks to be let into work early to check if anything of Jaehwan’s had been left behind. 

Frustration wells within Taekwoon. He walks a short distance away before coming to a stop behind a nearby tree. The sun rises steadily in the sky, and they have made little progress. 

Taekwoon reaches into his satchel to retrieve Jaehwan’s amulet. Jaehwan will forgive him later.

He loops the chain around his hand, weaving the chain through his fingers and holding the pendant in the palm of his hand. Under his breath, Taekwoon begins whispering the words to the locator spell, tuning out Seokjin’s phone conversation.

Taekwoon’s mind dissolves into a gray plane as he uses Jaehwan’s personal connection to the amulet to bolster his search. The plane stretches all around him, and dotted against it are different colors––blue, red, purple, green, so many. None, however, resemble Jaehwan’s trace.

In the previous times that he cast the spell, Jaehwan would block the spell and thick fog would crop up over the area to mask his exact location. The response would at least let Taekwoon know he was somewhere. 

Taekwoon turns in a circle. Still all he sees are colors that do not belong to Jaehwan. He sucks in a breath, burning more magic as he widens the search, now the whole of New Haven included. 

He sees yellow pinpricks around him this time, but as he focuses on them, he realizes they are strangers. Not Jaehwan.

Taekwoon opens his eyes, sucking in a lungful of air like he has been underwater for quite some time. He blinks rapidly, noticing that Seokjin stands in front of him, incredibly close. “Your eyes,” he remarks with a furrowed brow. “Your eyes turned completely gray, like smoke––”

“I can’t see him,” Taekwoon pants, the after-effects of the spell causing him to slump agains the tree. A locator spell, especially one that covers the whole city, asks the caster to part with a significant amount of magic. Taekwoon tips his head back, trying to will away the light-headed feeling. 

“What do you mean?”

“If he was conscious,” Taekwoon explains, “I’d see his trace. If he was blocking the spell, I’d see that, too.” Taekwoon’s hard-to-catch breath seems harder to reign in; he digs his fingers into the tree’s bark. “But I can’t see him.”

The heavy implication weighs between them.

Taekwoon’s chest rises and falls too fast, the skin of his fingertips splitting as he digs them harder into the bark. It feels as if a fist clenches tight around his heart, squeezing even tighter, and Taekwoon chokes inside, unable to breathe in enough air. He feels nauseous. Sweat rolls down his face, but as he–– 

Oh. Taekwoon reaches up to wipe the sweat away, finding it trails from his eyes.

He turns away from Seokjin, who has taken to staring at the ground. Taekwoon fills his chest with a single breath of air and holds it for the fount of five before blowing out through his nose. He needs to get a grip. He wipes his sleeve against his eyes. The weight of Jaehwan’s amulet in his hand somehow grounds him, the chain biting into his skin and reminding Taekwoon of his responsibility.

Fall apart later, he tells himself. For now, Jaehwan needs him and standing around and panicking will do nothing to find him. 

Taekwoon clears his throat, turning back to Seokjin. He forces himself to _think_. “The locator spell,” he announces, bringing Seokjin’s attention back to him. “The spell only works on conscious minds. That means if he’s asleep, I won’t see him.” Taekwoon clears his throat again. “Jumping to conclusions won’t do us any good, but I think we should stay realistic.” 

Taekwoon folds his arms over his chest and asks, “What do you think we should do?”

Seokjin blinks a few times, as if surprised he would be consulted, but then he quickly recovers. “I’ll go to Red Room. Our manager can let me in, and I can check to see if Jaehwan even took his stuff with him. That should at least give us a clue whether he intentionally left or…not.” 

Taekwoon nods. 

“I don’t know where else to look, but how many more times can you do that spell of yours?”

“Maybe once more this morning, but that might be pushing it.” Taekwoon makes a fist around Jaehwan’s amulet. “But I should be able to do it twice more today.” 

“Good. If you can keep doing that, then maybe we can find something.”

“Our friend Hongbin has a phone. If you find anything, you can call him.” 

Seokjin takes a moment to scribble Hongbin’s number onto his hand. “Alright, I’ll head over and let you know.” 

He makes to move past Taekwoon, but Taekwoon snags him by his coat-sleeve to keep him from leaving. An older woman eyes them from the sidewalk. The late-risers join the world, reminding Taekwoon that time passes while they stand still. He tells Seokjin, “Thank you.” 

Seokjin lays a hand on Taekwoon’s shoulder, and instead of shrinking under the weight, Taekwoon focuses on the support that Seokjin imbues in it. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.” 

He hopes Seokjin is right. 

 

Taekwoon and Seokjin part ways after that––Seokjin in the direction of Red Room and Taekwoon to his mother’s estate. Seokjin’s over-confidence worked in boosting Taekwoon’s own hopes, and he heads to the estate with renewed energy. 

Passersby give him strange looks. Maybe they recognize him from the paper, or maybe they wonder why he is dressed in such thin clothes and such an inadequate coat, boots half-laced and flapping around his ankles. He cares not what they think, though. He cares about little aside from finding Jaehwan. 

By the time Taekwoon reaches the twisting iron gate and cobblestone drive, his feet have been rubbed raw from the insides of his boots. His extremities are also numb, and he shivers with each wind that cuts through his clothes. Adrenaline paired with the thought that Jaehwan could be suffering much worse keeps him going. 

Taekwoon called Hongbin one last time after speaking with Seokjin to check if he heard anything from Jaehwan. Still nothing. 

_Jaehwan, what happened to you?_

After Taekwoon is let through the gate, he hobbles up the drive and toward the mansion, wishing whoever first built the home had not insisted on setting it so far from the main road. But finally he makes it, and as servants take in his bedraggled appearance, they treat him as one would treat a lost dog. They insist on sitting him in front of one of the mansion’s many fireplaces, or fixing him food, or even properly dressing him. 

Taekwoon stands in the foyer, soaking in the warmth and rubs his hands together to work feeling back into them. A few servants stare at him, expecting him to give an answer about what he would like, but all Taekwoon says is, “Take me to my mother.” 

Taekwoon’s refusal of their offers makes the few servants exchange quick looks, clearly an unprecedented course of action, but one woman steps forward. “Uh, right this way, sir.” 

She leads Taekwoon back to the plant room, the room in which Taekwoon enchanted furniture while his mother’s friends clapped for him. This time, however, he has no invitation, and he is not here to impress. Taekwoon glances down at his clothes––clearly, he is not here for that. 

The servant stops before the ornate door and enters before him, announcing, “My lady, you son is here to see you.” 

Taekwoon does not wait for approval and follows the servant in the room, eyes landing on his mother who sits alone among the greenery. An overpowering smell of flowers hits him, so strong that he believes it has to be artificial. His mother has a newspaper gripped in one hand and a porcelain cup in the other.   
Her eyes grow wide at Taekwoon’s entrance. “Thank you,” she directs to the servant. “You are dismissed.” 

Once the servant shuts the door behind them, his mother asks, “Did you walk here? Like that?”

“Jaehwan is missing.” Taekwoon’s hands tingle as the blood finally starts to course back through them. His body still shakes, though, but he is not entirely sure the cold is to blame.

“Missing?” His mother blinks. “What do you mean?”

Taekwoon, once again, explains the situation. He has regurgitated the story too many times for his liking. “I need your help to find him.”

“Help?”

Taekwoon feels close to snapping. Must she echo everything he says? He sucks in a breath. “Yes, help. I’d like for a carriage, so I don’t have to walk all over the city. It takes too much time.” 

His mother places her cup back onto the small table and carefully folds the newspaper in her lap, running her gloved hands along the creases. “Has he not run away before?” 

“That was different.” 

His mother hums, still running her hands along the paper. 

The bubble of frustration swells inside Taekwoon. How can she not see that this is different? Taekwoon, close to outlining exactly why this time and last time are not equivocal, pauses as a different thought strikes him. “How… Mother, how do you know that?” 

She lets the silence go far too long before she echoes, “Know what?”

“That Jaehwan left before. I’ve never told you that.”

“Yes, you have.”“No,” Taekwoon slowly says, “I don’t believe I did.”His mother folds her hands over the paper. She frowns. “Surely you did. Or perhaps Jaehwan did. How else would I know?”

“But you’ve only talked to him at the party. Haven’t you? I was there.”

“What difference does it make?” The unmistakable snap in her voice takes Taekwoon aback. His mother clamps her mouth shut, eyebrows raised as if surprised at herself. She presses her lips together. “I apologize. I should not snap at you, especially in light of what has happened.” She runs her gloved finger along the edge of the paper. “I suppose I am just surprised at the situation. I want to hear, though, what makes you sure that this time is different.” 

Taekwoon tries to reorder his thoughts. Her change in tone, the fact that she seems disbelieving of him, has thrown him off. He did not expect this of her. And he still cannot recall having such a conversation with her about his and Jaehwan’s history. 

“We had plans together today,” Taekwoon finally chooses to say. “He wouldn’t miss them.”

His mother raises her eyebrows. Taekwoon can tell that she is still skeptical, but all she says is, “Well, then this is troubling indeed.” She takes another sip from her cup. “Yes, you may borrow whatever you need to look for him, but first I insist that we find you something more appropriate to wear.”

Taekwoon starts to shake his head, but she holds up a hand. “I won’t hear of you falling ill because of this. The weather has taken a turn for the worse and running around outside, improperly clothed, is ludicrous.” She purses her lips before saying gently, “I am sure that your friend would feel terrible should you get sick for his sake.” 

Taekwoon furrows his brows about to remark how casually she treats the situation, acting like Jaehwan took a sudden, impromptu trip out of town, when the doors bang open and quick footsteps slap against the floor behind him. 

Taekwoon turns to see a vaguely familiar face approaching. The body it belongs to is slender, a blond man only a few years older than Taekwoon. The blond man blanches, though, at the sight of Taekwoon, and the troubled servant at his elbow takes the hesitation to apologize profusely. “Pardon, my lady, I told him you had an audience––”

Taekwoon darts a look to his mother to see her pin the man with a furious look. It vanishes in an instant, however, schooling it so she only appears mildly irritated at the interruption. “It is alright. Nigel, to what do I owe such a sudden intrusion?” 

Nigel––of course. From the party. That was his name. Taekwoon remembered his face, but like so many others that he met that night, the name slipped away from him. The man gives Taekwoon a firm nod, likely recognizing him as well. 

Nigel asks her, “Are you busy now?”

Silence.

Taekwoon’s mother turns a look to him and asks, “Dear, will you give us a moment?” Without waiting for a response, she points a finger to the servant still wringing her hands together at Nigel’s lack of formality. “Find my son some proper clothes and supply him with anything he needs to find his friend. We shall help him in whatever way we can.” 

The servant gives a small curtsy and turns on her heel toward the door. Taekwoon knows he is meant to follow, but something roots his feet to the floor, telling him to stay. He opens his mouth.

“Taekwoon,” his mother directs, firmer this time. She is no longer looking at him. “We shall talk later.”

Thoroughly dismissed, Taekwoon finds no reason to prolong his stay and he turns, passing Nigel on his way out. As he passes the man, though, he notices a fresh burn on his jawline, and Taekwoon briefly wonders what could have burned him.

The servant shuts the door behind Taekwoon and leads him away to search for clothes, but Taekwoon’s thoughts lie back in the room, back with his mother and that man. 

For whatever reason, he thought coming here would better help him. He, at least, thought seeing his mother would help ease his mind but finds himself more troubled. Taekwoon still can find no explanation for his mother knowing about Jaehwan’s previous disappearance, and her hesitation to believe him is discouraging. 

Taekwoon does, though, let the servant outfit him in better clothes. He dons a thicker pair of pants, socks, and wraps a scarf around his neck. At his request, another of his mother’s staff collects a small parcel of food and clothes; he wants it for Jaehwan, who may need it once he is found.

Taekwoon turns to the woman and asks, “Can you please ready a carriage for me?” 

“Certainly, sir.”

Now left alone in the foyer, Taekwoon sets the parcel of clothes and flood down, and turns back toward the hall that leads to the plant room. Back toward his mother. 

He speed-walks down the hall. He tries to come up with some excuse. His mother has a private telephone, right? He swears he saw one on a previous visit. If all else goes wrong, then that will be his excuse for hanging around. 

Taekwoon once more approaches the plant room, the closed doors barring him from entering, but Taekwoon has no interest barging in. He looks around and, seeing no one, Taekwoon presses his ear to the door. 

Although, Taekwoon would have heard the following cry of outrage even if he had not. 

An odd chill passes through him. Never has he heard his mother raise her voice. She always seems so placid, so calm––maybe unnervingly so––that Taekwoon wrongly thought she was incapable of yelling.

Taekwoon keeps his ear to the door, though, not daring to miss another word. 

“––tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow,” the man, Nigel, responds firmly. It has an air of finality to it.

“You and your brother are grossly mistaken if you think….” His mother’s voice lowers, and he misses her exact words, but her anger still is evident. “…sloppy work. What am I paying you for?” A slight pause and then with a sneer in her voice: “Is that from him? It serves you right.”

“This? He hardly grazed me. It’s nothing at all.” 

“Nothing, hmm? Nothing.” His mother pauses again, and Taekwoon pushes his ear harder into the door. “I suppose, then, we shall see tomorrow night. You have seen to that. I would advise you that your carelessness has gotten the better of you. I am very disappointed.” She says something else, but now that she better controls the anger in her voice, reverting back to her serene tone, Taekwoon has a harder time hearing her.

Better can he pick up the bass in Nigel’s voice, who responds, “I had no idea your son would be here. I apologize.”

“No more excuses, Nigel. Update me later.”

Taekwoon listens for a long moment, but he hears nothing from inside. With a start, he realizes his mother must have dismissed Nigel, and he throws himself away from the door. Heart hammering in his chest, Taekwoon has barely enough time to straighten and mold his expression into something casual, something one would wear if they had not overheard such a strange conversation. 

Taekwoon turns toward the adjacent window just as the doors burst open. He looks over his shoulder to meet eyes with Nigel whose expression shifts from annoyance to surprise at the sight of Taekwoon. Then he flattens his expression. 

Nigel shuts the doors behind him and clears his throat. “Sorry for interrupting your conversation with Miss Song. Taekwoon, yes?”

“Right.”

Nigel shifts his weight to his other foot and clears his throat again. “She, uh, told me what happened. I’m sorry about your loss.”

Taekwoon blinks at Nigel, saying slowly, “What do you mean?”

“Your friend?”

Taekwoon tilts his head, squaring himself to Nigel. “He’s missing. Not dead.” The words feel cold in hsi mouth, sending a chill over him. The words needed to be spoken aloud, though. 

Nigel looks stricken as he waves his hands, as if he could wave away the words. “No, no,” he says. “I never meant– I’m so sorry.”

Taekwoon gives him a long look, eyes flicking toward the burn on the man’s jaw. His mother mocked him for the burn, and Taekwoon does not remember seeing it at the party. 

Taekwoon taps his own jaw then looks Nigel in the eyes. “And I’m sorry. What happened?”

Nigel touches a finger to his burn. He waits a beat too long and then smiles at Taekwoon, but he does not like the way the edges of his smile fail to reach his eyes. “It was an accident,” Nigel explains. “I suppose I got too careless.” He gives a nod of his head. “Excuse me.”

But before he moves past Taekwoon, he pauses. He says, “I hope you find your friend.”

Taekwoon lets silence meet Nigel’s false sentiment. The man finally walks away down the hall, but Taekwoon watches the swagger of his shoulders, narrowing his eyes at Nigel’s retreating figure. He knows not how he and his mother are linked, what tomorrow night is, nor what she scolded him for, but Taekwoon knows that whatever impression Nigel left on him from the party, it has soured within him.


	11. Chapter 11

Jaehwan dreams in fits and starts, flashes of things before the dream inevitably lapses into nothingness. When he does dream, he sees faceless people looming over his body, touching him, pulling him deep. And deeper. And deeper. 

What makes him sure it is a dream? 

Jaehwan’s body lies deep beneath the earth, an immense pressure weighing him down. The soil crushes his chest. He cannot move. He opens his mouth to scream and sucks in dirt, just dirt. 

He awakes with a gasp––is he sure he is awake?––and musty, stale air fills his lungs. But he is breathing. 

Jaehwan’s eyes dart around the room. The earthy edges of the dream blur against the cold, strange place he finds himself. He blinks several times, slow to adjust against the darkness, but from what he can tell he has been propped against a wall. He shifts and he as he does, he realizes he has lost feeling in his back. He rotates his shoulders, his wrists jingling as he does. 

Jaehwan lifts his hands to his face, barely making out the shape of his fingers. But unmistakable are the cuffs circling his wrists. He tries to hold out his arms but cannot make the full movement; he has been chained to the wall. 

Across from him, a door opens. The door breaks the darkness as it creates a rip in the dark fabric, light spilling in and coating Jaehwan. He flinches, blinking furiously. Through the door steps someone Jaehwan does not recognize with a hood pulled over their face and their back against the harsh light. They walk with purposeful steps toward Jaehwan. 

Still sluggish from sleep, still struggling to see against the bright light, Jaehwan moves too slow. As soon as he notices the cloth in the person’s hand it is already too late.

Jaehwan tries to scramble away, but the chains ensure he stays put. The stranger crouches beside him, lowering the cloth to Jaehwan’s mouth, and just like before, he lulls back into sleep. 

This time he dreams of drowning. Water surrounds Jaehwan, and he watches as waves rise stories above him, seeming to reach to the heavens. Jaehwan runs across the ship’s deck, but even as he overlooks the railing for an escape, he knows there is none. He looks around the deck, but he is alone. 

The wave crests, beginning its descent upon him. 

Jaehwan throws up his arms.

He opens his eyes, a sickness roiling in his stomach, and once again the dream feels too real for Jaehwan to believe it was just that––a dream. How long has he been asleep? Jaehwan opens his mouth, his tongue dry and lips cracked. Water. He needs water. 

He blinks again, noticing the ropes now binding his wrists and hands together. He tries to wiggle his fingers and finds them numb and heavy. His eyes then catch on two silver cuffs, but unlike before, they are without chains and secured near his elbows. He fails to recognize the engraved symbols upon them. 

The sick sensation increases within him as he suspects the cuffs’ purpose. 

Jaehwan tries to call up his magic, but nothing comes out.

The solid surface under Jaehwan tilts, and his body lurches to the side. Before he falls, however, a hand catches his shoulder to steady him. A voice that makes Jaehwan’s insides curdle tuts, “None of that now.” 

Jaehwan looks up into Nigel’s mocking face. He has enough strength, or enough anger, to wrench his shoulder away from the man’s touch, but as he does so, he realizes where he is. 

He looks around him, stomach flipping over inside him. 

On a ship. On the sea. 

Fast moving clouds clutter the sky. A low rumble of thunder echoes through the sky. From Jaehwan’s position, sitting on the deck and tied to the mast, he can tell that the ship sits a great distance from New Haven’s harbor. He sees the outline of the city, orange lights reflecting on the low-hanging clouds. 

“Rough night,” Nigel comments. He fixes his gaze on the water, on the choppy waves slapping against the sides of the ship. He shakes his head. 

“What’s––going on,” Jaehwan demands, trying to mask the waver in his voice. The words come out like a croak, and his whole body trembles, but he tries to seem more together than he really feels. He wishes he sounded braver; he wishes he could rip apart these bindings and these cuffs, and blast Nigel right into those waves. 

He wishes he had not let a stranger get under his skin. 

He should have known not to take the bait; he should have known better. 

Hooded individuals stand around the deck, some conjuring magic in their hands. Jaehwan cannot make out their purpose, but he has an idea that they must work for the Goldfinger brothers. And that is not a promising sign. 

“Before you came along,” Nigel drawls as he walks around to Jaehwan’s front to face him; maybe so Jaehwan can see the smile plastered on his face, but he only notices the burn marring the man’s jaw. “I’m not sure what my brother and I would have done to finish this job. I mean, I do know, but you’ve made it all so much more convenient.” 

He chuckles and then raises his voice to shout commands at the others on deck. Nigel beckons one of them closer. “Has the Bureau been notified?”

_The Bureau?_

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then it’s time to go,” Nigel orders. “Let him be free.” 

The hooded man pools emerald magic in his palms, dissolving away Jaehwan’s bindings as he places his hands over them. The man leaves on the magic-absorbing cuffs however, and Nigel smiles when Jaehwan tries to pry them off.

“No, no,” he admonishes, “those stay on. You’re a bit nasty when you’re not wearing them.” 

Jaehwan looks up, focusing on Nigel’s burn. He remembers little between Nigel stealing him away and now, but he grits his teeth together, relishing the look of Nigel’s scabbing and peeling flesh. “I hope it hurt.”

Nigel laughs but does not rise to the bait. 

Jaehwan tries again, this time asking, “What’s in this for you?” He clutches the mast behind him as the ship rocks again, his wobbling legs nearly faltering as he tries to stand. He must delay Nigel as long as possible––keep him talking. “Why bring me into this?” 

The magic-user stands at Nigel’s side, but his magic has not yet dissipated, circling in his palms as if ready to unleash it at a command’s notice. One word from Nigel may be all that is required to have that magic turned upon him. 

Nigel, though, looks at Jaehwan with a thoughtful expression. “I told you,” he says. “Everyone has their price.” He looks at the magic-user. “Let’s go.”

They turn away from Jaehwan, and Jaehwan looks across the deck, seeing the rest of the hooded figures collected at the ship’s rail. The realization of what they mean to do leaves Jaehwan cold, colder than the wind whipping across the sea. Jaehwan lunges forward and grabs onto Nigel’s shoulder.

A sharp crack whips Jaehwan’s head to the side, his cheek exploding with pain. He crashes to the deck.

Nigel stands over him, his arm still raised and the whites of his eyes showing. Even without magic, Nigel Goldfinger can hurt him. 

Nigel lowers his arm, but his hands curl into fists. He says in an almost conversational tone, “In my line of work, we prize efficiency over all else.” He then stomps booted foot into the center of Jaehwan’s chest. “When you have two problems––” he raises his knee again, “––sometimes all that’s needed is a single solution,” and drives his heel back into Jaehwan’s chest, the air leaving his lungs. 

As he gasps, Nigel lets out a high-pitched laugh. “Did you really think no one would find out about your demon? Did you think you could keep it such a secret? All it took was a tip––” he drives his heal down again, and Jaehwan cries out as something cracks inside him, “––and a bit of digging, and I found all I needed to know.”

Nigel places his boot on Jaehwan’s chest, leaning all his weight onto him. He cannot breathe. He lifts his hands to push Nigel off, but he cannot do that either. The man laughs at him. “And you running into my brother other night was coincidence, a coincidence that worked in our favor. So maybe we accelerated our plans. It will be worth it because the end result will be the same. 

Jaehwan wheezes, “Oh, yeah? What could you––know about me?” Draw this out, he tells himself. Keep him talking. 

“I know you live with the Wolf and that he hasn’t been heard from in months. I know you left your wizard friend, Taekwoon, some time ago, and I know that he thinks you’ve abandoned him once again.

“You, Lee Jaehwan, have summoned a demon within city limits. I know you’ve been trying to keep that fact hidden, but either way, tonight it will all come to light. You’ll either be captured by authorities or die at the mercy of what you’ve summoned––take your pick.” Nigel smiles as he watches Jaehwan wrap his hands around Nigel’s ankle. “How cute,” he coos. “This is nothing personal, but I have a job to do, you know.”

“Everything,” Jaehwan gasps, “about this is personal.”

“You’re right. But there’s no hard feelings from me.” Nigel removes his foot, ripping it out of Jaehwan’s hold, and turns his back to him. He walks to the side of the ship with the magic-user, but do not look back at Jaehwan, so sure are they that he will stay down. 

Jaehwan tries to rise. A sharp pain radiates through his chest, leaving him seeing stars. He grunts as he drags himself to his feet, pushing through the pain, but the rocking motion of the boat nearly sends him careening back to the deck. 

“No,” Jaehwan pants.

Nigel and his people have clambered into the lifeboat, and Jaehwan watches as it slowly lowers them down. 

Jaehwan lurches forward, his arms hanging loose by his sides. He tries his magic once more to shoot Nigel, to blast him into the icy water, to do _something_ , but his magic does not manifest.

He missteps and tumbles to the deck. Sea spray flecks against his face. He clambers back to his feet, his chest burning with every breath he takes. When he finally makes it to the railing, it is far too late. Jaehwan watches as the lifeboat, propelled by magic, skitters across the choppy water back to the harbor. 

Thunder rolls above him, closer than before. His hair blows into his eyes. Jaehwan grits his teeth and reaches a hand up although he knows he shall find. Or what he will not. 

The top buttons of his shirt have been undone, his fingers touching bare skin. Taekwoon’s necklace is gone, but more importantly, so is Kyungsoo’s talisman against demonic energies. Jaehwan’s breaths cloud before his face in rapid succession. He clings to the railing as a wave of nausea hits him. His hands shake. 

All alone. Defenseless. Without even his magic to protect him. Does anyone suspect what has happened to him? Jaehwan does not believe what Nigel said about Taekwoon. He cannot––he will not––believe it. 

Jaehwan scrapes his blunt nails against the cuffs again, but he cannot even wedge his fingers under them. They lack any sort of latch or anything that looks like a place to insert a key. The smooth metal seems to tighten even more on his arms.

Goosebumps erupt along Jaehwan’s skin as his flimsy uniform allows the wind to cut into him. 

And then the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

Fear chokes Jaehwan and his knees wobble so fierce that he fears he may fall again. The ship dips once more as a wave knocks into the ship’s side, and cold spray hits the backs of his legs, but he manages to stay standing, throwing out his arms to catch the rail. 

Nigel left the lamps lit, and Jaehwan knows he did it so he could see what now clings to the topmost sail. A cry rises in Jaehwan’s throat. The lamps cast just enough light to see the dark outline of the demon, crawling down, down, down toward Jaehwan. 

Slowly, as if it know that Jaehwan is powerless to fend it off. 

The thunder and sea swallow all other sound, but as the demon descends, Jaehwan hears it hissing at him. Cackling at him. It wears his face, its lips stretched much too wide and eyes bulging in the sockets.

Jaehwan darts a look over the sea, but no other ships are around. His eyes find the shoreline, but all the lights resemble pinpricks on a dark background. Briefly, Jaehwan catches a dot of blue light on the shore which reminds him of Taekwoon.

Taekwoon.

The thought of him fills Jaehwan with a spurt of determination and bravery, helped by the fact that his life is in danger. Jaehwan looks down at the choppy water. He knows how to swim, but the roughness of the waves and the sheer distance might doom him––allowing that he can survive the water’s temperature. 

But he cannot stay on the ship. He cannot be sure the demon not follow him into the water, but he has to try _something_.

Heart pounding in his chest, Jaehwan throws a leg over the railing.

In a flash, the demon latches onto Jaehwan, its sharp nails digging into Jaehwan’s neck. It holds him tight, suspending him in the air for a long and terrible moment. He smells the acrid burn of rotting flesh, and Jaehwan feels a sob rip from his throat. 

The demon laughs, letting loose a shrill shriek.

It flings Jaehwan across the deck, and he slides across the boards. Whatever Nigel cracked inside him sends out jagged tendrils of pain through his chest, and Jaehwan tries to catch his breath, but even breathing hurts.

The brief surge of bravery has dissipated within him, leaving him shaking and cold. Jaehwan clenches his fists, filling his mind with images of Taekwoon. If he should die here tonight, he hopes that Taekwoon will at least know that he was not abandoned. 

Nigel’s words ring in his skull. 

“No,” Jaehwan pants. “No, I….” He looks up just as the demon hunches its shoulders, sucking its long fingers into its mouth––Jaehwan’s mouth––and its demented eyes roll back in the sockets, keening at the taste of Jaehwan’s blood. Fear wells inside Jaehwan, but the memory of Nigel and his lies becomes stronger than that. 

Jaehwan has to be strong. He has to survive this so he can get back to Taekwoon. 

He grits his teeth and scrambles back to put distance between himself and the demon. He does not get far before the demon sinks into a crouch, laughing as it hisses, _“Kill you…. I’ll kill you. Your skin is mine. Your insides are mine.”_

Jaehwan scrapes at his cuffs, urging them off, scratching at his own skin.

_“Mine. You…are mine.”_

Jaehwan’s world changes perspectives. One moment he sits firmly on the deck, and the next he flies through the air, colliding with the ship’s railing with a sickening crack. His head strikes hard enough to make his vision blurry. Stars burst before him. His arms lie trapped underneath him, between his back and the deck. 

The demon descends upon Jaehwan, vicious wild eyes and gnashing teeth replacing Jaehwan’s splotchy vision. It digs its claws into Jaehwan’s shoulders. Pinned between the demon and the railing, Jaehwan has nowhere left to go. The scent of rotting flesh fills his nose. 

When he was young, Jaehwan watched a cat bat around a mouse until the mouse grew too tired to escape. As the demon presses its body onto Jaehwan––too close, too close––weighing him down and trapping him in place as its claws curl around his wrists, Jaehwan is reminded of that cat, having its fun before inevitably delivering the killing blow. 

_“You,”_ the demon hisses, _“are mine. Mine to bleed and eat and become.”_

Jaehwan jerks his head away, trying to find an escape from the oppressive smell, from the glee in the demon’s eyes. 

His eyes find the shoreline once more.

In doing so, he catches that blue light again. Except now the light has split into two, much closer than it was, as if hovering over the water. How hard did he hit his head?

The demon grabs Jaehwan by his hair, jerking his head forward to face it. Jaehwan stares into eyes that look so much like his own yet so inhuman. Pain erupts in Jaehwan’s middle, that familiar hot knife stabbing him as the demon tries to call upon the anchor inside him.

Jaehwan trembles, anticipating the demon’s final blow. He had been wrong; he will die here. On this ship, he will die, and Taekwoon will be alone. Jaehwan pictures him in Heo’s empty house, not knowing where Jaehwan is. Except this time, Jaehwan will never return. 

This close, Jaehwan sees that the corners of the demon’s mouth have become raw, its skin split open from smiling too wide. The demon runs its long tongue over its lips, lapping up the left-over traces of Jaehwan’s blood. It opens its mouth wide.

Jaehwan whimpers as the demon lowers its mouth to his.

The ship then explodes around them. Jaehwan squeezes his eyes shut as chunks of wood and splinters fly, and he wraps his now-free arms around his head. The demon has slithered away from him in the explosion, but Jaehwan still hears its hisses and screams somewhere around him. 

_What even was that?_ Jaehwan peeks through his arms to survey the ship. 

His heart, pounding rapidly in his chest, skips a beat at the scene. Spray hits his face, and he blinks rapidly to make sure what he sees is true. No way he can be imagining this. 

On top of the ship’s bow, chunks of railing splintered around him, stands Taekwoon. Jaehwan scrubs at his eyes, and even then Taekwoon still stands there, hands raised with his blue magic, aiming at the demon who has thrown itself across the deck, pacing and watching Taekwoon with wary eyes.

The blue light Jaehwan saw had been magic––Taekwoon’s magic.

Wind tangles his long hair around his face as thunder claps loudly above. Every line of Taekwoon’s body is etched in fury. The slant of his mouth. The hunch of his shoulders and the furrow of his brow. Surprise battles against that fury, however, as he stares at the demon, no doubt shocked at how much it looks like Jaehwan.

“Taekwoon!” Jaehwan shouts, voice cracking. He scrambles to his feet––as best he can with pain radiating through his chest and into his arms. His legs tangle together. But he scrambles into a standing position, willing himself to go to him. 

“Stay there!” Taekwoon yells over the noise as he steps down onto the ship’s deck. His eyes dart to Jaehwan before returning back to the demon. His pants are soaked through; his long coat twists around his legs. Jaehwan’s heart surges in his chest; Taekwoon really came for him.

Lightning cracks above them.

The demon then dissipates into the air––

––And reappears in front of Taekwoon, lunging with its claws out. Taekwoon, though, easily steps aside and blasts the demon as it hurls past with a funnel of energy, searing it just as grass reacts to fire. The demon screeches as the blast squarely hits its side, and the force of the magic flings the demon into the air. 

The demon hisses, diving away from the ship, into the darkness. 

Its scream rises over the howl of wind.

Jaehwan puts one foot in front of the other, eyes only on Taekwoon. He puts a hand over his chest as he draws in ragged breaths. 

Taekwoon meets him halfway across the deck, nearly slipping on the wet boards as he rushes to Jaehwan’s side. It feels like eons since Jaehwan last saw him, but soon enough, Taekwoon wraps his arms around Jaehwan pulling him into a tight embrace. 

But not for long. Too soon, Taekwoon takes him by the shoulders and holds him at arm’s-length. His eyes rake over Jaehwan’s unkempt appearance. “You’re alive,” he says in disbelief. “You…. How?”

Jaehwan, however, needs Taekwoon to focus on the cuffs. The demon may return or not now that its prey will not submit so easily, but regardless, Jaehwan needs his magic. He holds his arms up between them. “We need to get these off. I need them off so we can send it––the demon.”

“No,” Taekwoon says, forcefully. “Not tonight. We need to get off this ship––”

“No! No more.” The exhaustion hits Jaehwan all at once, and he feels a sob try and work its way up his throat. He chokes it back to get out, “It’s Nigel Goldfinger. He and his brother…. They….”

A strange look crosses Taekwoon’s face, his hands tightening on Jaehwan’s shoulders. “Nigel? What happened?”

Jaehwan swallows. He hates that he has to tell Taekwoon now, like this. “Nigel– He tricked me. He has all this information on me. He knows about the demon. He knows about– about you. They brought me here. They called the Bureau. I– I think they want the Bureau to find me with the demon or…or something.”

“If that’s true, then we need to get off this ship now. We need to get you out of here.” 

“No!” 

“Why _not_?”

Incredulity twists Taekwoon’s face, but Jaehwan shakes his head. “I’m putting an end to this once and for all. 

A bone-chilling cry sounds from the top of the mast, and Taekwoon and Jaehwan look up to find the demon clinging to it, its sharp nails dug into the wood. The other hand clutches its side where Taekwoon burned it but its eyes are focused on the both of them, its intent evident. 

Jaehwan shoves his arms closer to Taekwoon. “Hurry,” he pleads. “These absorb my magic; I– I need your help.” 

Without further questioning, Taekwoon takes one of Jaehwan’s cuffs between his hands, running his fingers over the silver cuffs. He mutters to himself as he studies it, and Jaehwan darts another look at the demon, which seems to finally be recovering. “Hurry,” he urges. 

Taekwoon wraps his hands around the circumference of Jaehwan’s forearm and sends his magic into the cuff. Jaehwan winces at the sudden heat. “Sorry,” Taekwoon says, but Jaehwan firms his chin. 

“Whatever you have to do, do it.”

Taekwoon nods.

Without warning, Taekwoon overloads the cuff with a short but strong burst of power. The magic sears against Jaehwan’s skin, and he yelps, but the cuff pops off in Taekwoon’s hands. Despite the pain, Jaehwan thrusts his other toward Taekwoon, but before Taekwoon can take off that one as well, a scream alerts them. 

Jaehwan looks up to see the demon barreling toward them, and Taekwoon wraps an arm around Jaehwan’s middle before diving out of the demon’s path. 

Jaehwan’s chest seizes and eyes water as he falls into Taekwoon.

Taekwoon reaches around Jaehwan to aim another blast a the demon, driving it back. “Quick,” he breathes, as they scramble into sitting positions. “Quick, give me your arm.”

The second cuff pops off like the first, and blood now flows back into both of Jaehwan’s forearms. Blood and––he gives an experimental test, yellow sparking through his fingers––magic. 

“Taekwoon,” Jaehwan pleads, one last time, “let’s finish this. We can do it. The Bureau’s coming whether or not the demon’s sent, but I should be the one to send it. I need to finish this.”

Wordlessly, Taekwoon reaches inside the neck of his shirt to reveal Jaehwan’s amulet, dull without his magic swirling in the stone center. “I used your magic to help me find you,” Taekwoon confesses. “So we’re down an amulet, and,” his eyes lower to Jaehwan’s collarbone, frowning, “I only have one of Kyungsoo’s talismans.” 

Jaehwan clutches Taekwoon’s hand in his own. “The demon’s desperate––desperate as I am.” He gives a short laugh, bordering on unstable. “Listen, we can do this. You’re easily worth two people, and I’ve got magic to spare.” Jaehwan tightens his grip on Taekwoon. “I’m not letting the demon escape tonight. Taekwoon, together we can finally end this.”

A raindrop hits Taekwoon’s cheek as lightning zings through the clouds. A thunderclap echoes through the sky. Jaehwan knows he must look something terrible, that he must look out of his mind, but perhaps his conviction comes through in his expression and voice because Taekwoon finally gives him a firm nod.

Rain starts to fall harder, dotting across both their faces. 

Jaehwan turns so that he stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Taekwoon. He spies the demon scampering back to the top of the mast, out of range. He asks Taekwoon, “We both need to subdue the demon, but once we do, will you be able to hold it in place so I can open the portal?” 

Taekwoon moves beside him and a light weight drops onto Jaehwan’s chest, hanging around his neck. He looks down. Kyungsoo’s talisman. “No, I––”

“Yes.” Taekwoon raises his hands again, his magic pooling in his palms. “The demon’s after you. It’s your energy it draws upon, so you need the talisman the most.”

There is absolutely no time to argue, but Taekwoon makes a good point. Jaehwan looks sidelong at him. Taekwoon’s eyes are on the demon, waiting for it to make a move. He has his arms raised, magic at the ready. Jaehwan’s heart pangs in his chest. 

He thanks whatever force brought them together all those years ago. Luck or fate––it matters not. What matters is that they are together now. What matters is that Taekwoon has never given up on him, even when things have been difficult. Taekwoon is, quite literally, facing his demon with him. 

Jaehwan blinks, pushing back his feelings. He swallows and mirrors Taekwoon’s posture, his hands held aloft, focused on the demon that still writhes atop the mast. 

It seems to be making a decision. Stay and have the chance to kill Jaehwan once and for all or to leave and attack another time.

Stay, Jaehwan silently begs. _Let’s end this_.

His breaths come out as wheezes but he widens his stance all the same, ready to blast the demon should it make a dive at them.

“Jaehwan,” Taekwoon says, his voice rough. Rain now pelts them, running down the deck in rivulets. Both men keep their eyes on the demon, but his words are for Jaehwan. “Be careful.”

For the first time tonight, Jaehwan manages a smile. “You too.”

The demon fizzles out of sight.

“Back-to-back,” Taekwoon orders, diving in front of Jaehwan. Jaehwan needs no further explanation, and he presses his back to Taekwoon’s keeping his eyes peeled for the demon that has stolen his face. 

Seconds pass. Waves batter the boat, the sea growing rougher and rougher. The rain comes down so hard that Jaehwan has to squint to try and keep it from running into his eyes. His dream comes back to him, the waves reaching high above the boat, and Jaehwan pushes the images from his head. _Focus!_

“Jaehwan!”

Jaehwan spins to see Taekwoon unfurling a blast of blue energy, and without waiting for further direction, Jaehwan surrenders himself to the magic. He surrenders himself to the current, making sure that he aims where Taekwoon aims, and then he lets it loose.

Yellow and blue magic twist and tangle together, the edges of Jaehwan’s magic leaping and surging forward in erratic shapes. With the added effect of the Chaos magic, the demon screeches, like a thousand birds screaming over the wind. 

Their combined efforts push the demon back against the thick mast, pinning it in place. And then, the demon’s visage begins to disintegrate. The face of the false-Jaehwan begins to peel away, revealing the demon’s true face, the fleshy meat lurking beneath. 

Jaehwan hears Taekwoon make a noise of disgust. Jaehwan starts to chuckle before his chest seizes again. He tries to draw in a full breath. He staggers back a step but does not falter in his magic. Taekwoon yells something at him, but he cannot make out the words. The storm around them and the storm of their magic swallows all noise, but Jaehwan still yells, “Don’t stop!”

But just as Jaehwan encourages Taekwoon, the ship dips and upsets the equilibrium on deck. Both Jaehwan and Taekwoon’s streams of magic break as they try to maintain balance. A wave crashes on deck, ice-cold water pouring over their feet. Taekwoon slips.

The demon disappears. 

“Dammit!” Jaehwan scans the mast and the deck for the demon, but he sees nothing. Chills run up his spine. “Taekwoon––”

Just as Jaehwan turns to him, he watches as Taekwoon’s body is launched backwards. He crashes agains the deck, the demon materializing over him. Its claws pierce Taekwoon’s shoulders. 

Rage and panic mixes inside Jaehwan. Images of Sanghyuk, bloody and hurt flash through his mind. He almost lets his magic loose, but Taekwoon and the demon writhe together, too close for Jaehwan to get a clear shot without hurting Taekwoon. He moves closer, heart hammering in his throat. 

Taekwoon gets his hands free for a moment and blasts his magic at the demon, but the shots go astray, nearly grazing Jaehwan. The demon latches onto Taekwoon’s wrists, claws stabbing into him. 

Taekwoon screams. 

The demon has Taekwoon pinned to the deck, hovering over his body. The demon looks up into Jaehwan’s eyes, and the side of its face that still resembles Jaehwan, curls its mouth into a smile. 

This will be as clear of a shot as he can get. Jaehwan shouts, “Don’t move!” and without waiting for Taekwoon to respond, Jaehwan pours out his magic at the demon.

The same time that Jaehwan shouts, the demon pulls back its arm, claws gleaming in the night. 

A split-second before the Jaehwan’s shot connects, the demon slashes those claws downward. 

Screams erupt on the deck. 

The demon howls as Jaehwan’s magic blasts it backward. The Chaos magic burns into the demon’s body, thick pieces of flesh coming away. 

Jaehwan’s throat burns, and it takes him a moment to realize he screamed too. Blood––there’s blood. He runs to Taekwoon’s side and drops to his knees. He holds a ball of magic in his palm to better see Taekwoon. He gasps. 

Thick globs of blood streak down Taekwoon’s face. The rain does well to dilute it, but it makes it impossible for a moment to see the wounds or their severity. Watery blood covers Taekwoon’s face. He’s breathing hard, possibly as hard as Jaehwan, but he slowly sits up. “Let’s hurry,” he grunts. 

“Are you––”

“I’m fine.”

Jaehwan nods. He has to tear his eyes away from the blood. Taekwoon risks so much by being here; they have to send the demon to make it worth it.

They both stand, and Taekwoon gasps, “Together.” He nods at Jaehwan before aiming his palms back at the demon. The demon skitters across the deck, seeming to reconsider its decision to fight. 

The demon passes in front of the captain’s cabin, in front of a strong wooden door, and Taekwoon yells, “Now!” Had Jaehwan not been standing so close, he would not have heard him.

They almost miss, the demon scampering away, but then Taekwoon’s magic catches its shoulder, and Jaehwan’s follows close behind. Once again, their magic twines together and consumes the demon, forcing it to stay in place. 

Jaehwan keeps his eyes on the demon, but all he can think about is the blood still streaming down Taekwoon’s face. In a surge of rage, Jaehwan screams and funnels his anger into his magic. “You _will_ return to the Infernal Realm,” Jaehwan shouts, the words torn from his throat. “You _will not_ hurt me anymore, and you _will not_ hurt anyone else!”

Inside himself, Jaehwan slams down the walls of his magic, cutting off the supply.

Taekwoon needs no explanation to know that he must hold the demon alone now. He grits his teeth together and takes a step closer to the demon. And another. Closing the distance between them allows Taekwoon to more effectively trap the demon alone, but Jaehwan shudders as Taekwoon nears it.

He must hurry.

This will not be like the last time, Jaehwan vows. He knows the words; he knows what he has to do. Jaehwan begins reciting the portal spell, chanting fervently.

Jaehwan summoned the demon with candles and chalk and arrogance. He thought he knew how to control it, but he had not been prepared for the consequences. He meddled in something he had no business with, and other suffered for it. Sanghyuk and Wonsik tried their best to help him, to give him chances to escape the consequences, but still it was not enough. 

Jaehwan grits his teeth; it’s time to face his mistake. 

Time to finish this once and for all. 

To the demon’s left, a seam appears in the air. It splits open little by little, unfolding as Jaehwan concentrates on opening a portal to the Infernal Realm. Through the seam, he can see the void––the nothingness of the Infernal Realm. It looks like spilt oil; inky darkness swirls and shifts with other dark colors. Its hypnotic nature almost causes Jaehwan to lose focus.

But then the cold hits.

The rain passing in front of the portal turns to ice, bouncing against the deck. Frost creeps along the wet, wooden planks. Jaehwan’s breath clouds in front of his face. 

A thump makes Jaehwan look over, and Jaehwan sees Taekwoon stumble back a step. His shoulders shake. He must be near his limit. Jaehwan screams, praying that his words find Taekwoon’s ears, “Almost there!”

With one hand dedicated to holding open the portal, Jaehwan uses his second to focus his magic back onto the demon. He begins to whisper the spell to send the demon, an inverse of what he used to send it.

The writhing demon, while buffeted by the sheer volume and intensity of Taekwoon’s magic, is drawn to yet burned by the Chaos magic. Like a moth to a flame. The demon digs its claws into the wall its braced against. It knows what must come.

Jaehwan grunts a he tries to move the demon. The effort of moving it while holding open the portal is akin to moving a mountain, but little by little, the demon begins to budge.

Jaehwan nearly loses his footing as another stray wave knocks into the ship, but his concentration never wavers. Determination fills Jaehwan, spurning him to hold out, to hold on. Because not only is Taekwoon’s energy waning, but his own as well. 

Slowly, they force the demon away from the wall, nothing to protect it from the portal. 

The demon’s howls turn desperate as it claws wildly but finds no purchase. It creeps closer to its realm, without anything to keep it tied to this world. 

Jaehwan breathes heavy, chest heaving from the effort as his magic nears the last of his supply. He cannot lose now.

Nigel’s smug face comes to mind. He thought of Jaehwan as weak; he thought Jaehwan would die tonight, here on this boat. Jaehwan thinks of the second Goldfinger brother, looking down his nose at him. He thinks of Taekwoon’s mother. He thinks of all the people who believe his worth to be so little.

He thinks of himself. All those years of doubting and hating himself…. And what came of it? He has proved to be resourceful and resilient, and above all else, determined to _survive_.

All of them were wrong, including him. He _is_ worth something, and he deserves to stand at Taekwoon’s side. Taekwoon stood with him tonight, believing in Jaehwan and putting his trust in him.

A surge of power rushes through Jaehwan, and he pours out the last of his magic.

The demon slips through the edges of the portal, screaming the whole way. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Taekwoon releases his magic with a grunt and falls to his knees. Jaehwan’s own arms burn from the sheer effort of holding them up, but he urges himself to hold steady. 

_Almost done._

With one hand holding the demon back, Jaehwan uses the other to seal the portal, his fingers mimicking those of a seamstress. A warmth appears behind him, strong hands grasping Jaehwan’s elbows to alleviate the pain in his arms. Jaehwan sags against Taekwoon’s chest, feeling the brush of Taekwoon’s lips beside his ear. He shivers. 

Inside the portal, the demon surges forward, fighting Jaehwan’s magic now that his attentions are split and lacking the support of Taekwoon’s magic. The last of its guise fizzles away. The fleshy demon swims back toward the mouth of Jaehwan’s portal, but it is too little too late. 

Jaehwan’s fingers work quickly as he sews the seam, working faster with Taekwoon gripping his elbows. He watches the demon reach out with its claws, meaning to slash the seam apart, but Jaehwan feels himself smile despite it all. He makes the last stitch just in time, and he watches as the portal folds into nothing over the demon’s fleshy form. 

The demon’s screams instantly fall silent. 

Jaehwan hastily cuts himself off from the current of magic before they have another problem on their hands. Taekwoon cannot afford to rescue him from burning out this time. 

Taekwoon. 

The man is still wrapped around Jaehwan, and in the pouring rain, thunder, and lightning, Jaehwan turns so that he buries his face into Taekwoon’s neck. His pulse beats wildly under his skin. His arms ache and tremble and his body spasms from the amount of magic he just channeled. Jaehwan fists his hands into Taekwoon’s wet shirt, pink with blood. Both of them are soaked to the bone.

“It’s over,” Jaehwan repeats again and again. “It’s over.” 

Taekwoon’s hands grip him tight, shaking. Jaehwan attributes it to sending the demon, to expending so much magic in such a short amount of time. 

“I thought I lost you,” Taekwoon pants. His mouth is somewhere by Jaehwan’s ear. So close––Jaehwan feels Taekwoon’s own pulse kicking under his skin like his own. “I– I thought you were gone.” 

“I’m here; I’m here.”

“Jaehwan, I––” 

“Don’t worry. You’ve got me. Taekwoon, we’re okay.” 

“I thought I lost you. Jaehwan, I love you so much.” 

The words spoken into Jaehwan’s ear makes him jerk his head back. He searches Taekwoon’s face. The other’s eyes are wide, lips parted, blood still dripping off his chin. Jaehwan can see it now. Three thin parallel lines slicing down the side of Taekwoon’s face. They seem shallow, only deepening near his jaw, but Jaehwan rips his eyes away from the blood, unconsciously tightening his fingers in Taekwoon’s shirt. 

He licks his lips. “What’d you say?”

Another explosion fills Jaehwan’s ears, the boat shuddering underneath them. Jaehwan’s knees bang against the deck again. He loses his hold on Taekwoon, hands now empty. His palms slap against the wet deck. 

Jaehwan searches wildly for Taekwoon, hands grabbing before he sees him, but Taekwoon fell not far from him. Taekwoon crawls back to Jaehwan’s side. 

“What was that?” Jaehwan looks around but aside from the damage Taekwoon dealt from boarding the ship, nothing seems to have changed. 

Taekwoon wraps an arm around Jaehwan’s shoulders, as if to not let any distance come between them now that they have been reunited. “I don’t know….” He looks toward the sea, then to the deck, then back to the sea. His eyes widen.

“We’re taking on water.” Taekwoon pulls Jaehwan up to a standing position, and Jaehwan winces as pain laces down his chest. “We need to get off this ship.”

Taekwoon clasps his hand in Jaehwan’s and pulls him to the ship’s bow, half-running and half-sliding thanks to the rain. Now upright, Jaehwan sees that the ship is indeed taking on water. The waves lap too close to the deck, much too close There explosion must have come from one of the lower levels. 

“Nigel,” Jaehwan pants. “I hate him.”

Taekwoon says nothing, continuing to run toward the bow, although Jaehwan has no idea what he has planned. “Taekwoon,” he tries, “what are we going to do?”

They stand at the edge, and Taekwoon points downward, at the lifeboat tethered to the ship with a blue rope of magic. “I had to get here somehow,” Taekwoon says. He gives Jaehwan a serious look. “I only have a bit of magic left.”

“I barely have anything.”

Taekwoon nods and looks back at the lifeboat. The sinking ship has lowered the deck closer to sea level, but it is still a ways down. Too far to jump. He looks back at Jaehwan. “I can lower us close enough and drop us in.”

“I trust you.”

They lock gazes for a brief moment.

Taekwoon nods and flings his arm out, Jaehwan squeezing tighter the hand he still holds. An arc of blue magic swirls around them. Jaehwan’s feet suddenly no longer touch the deck, his stomach swooping as he and Taekwoon float over the open water. They begin to descend and as soon as they are over the lifeboat, Taekwoon squeezes out, “Brace yourself,” and they drop the rest of the way.

Their landing is not perfect. Jaehwan lands between two benches and Taekwoon hits the edge, nearly capsizing the whole thing, but they both made it _inside_ the boat and they have to be grateful for that. 

Taekwoon grabs an oar stored below one of the benches and urges Jaehwan to do the same. The shore seems so far away, but they cannot wait out the storm on the water. Jaehwan picks up an oar and sits beside Taekwoon with their shoulders brushing. They fumble for a minute before managing to sync their rows, and once they do, the little lifeboat begins to make its way. 

The adrenaline has not quite worn off, so the pain in Jaehwan’s chest comes secondary to the need to touch dry land. His grip slips on the oar, and he winces as cold water sprays his face. Waves crash into them, threatening to try and tip them over, but Jaehwan keeps his mind focused on land. 

“So it was hers.”

Jaehwan looks sidelong at Taekwoon but does not stop rowing. “Huh?”  
“The ship––it was my mother’s ship.”

Jaehwan looks back at the sinking ship to see the Tradewinds logo illuminated by the lightning. He bites his lower lip, puzzling over how he should tell Taekwoon the rest.

Taekwoon asks, voice strained, “You wanted to talk to me the night you disappeared. You tried calling the exorcists. What were you going to say?”

Jaehwan licks his lips. “The Goldfingers run insurance scams. I’ve seen them before in Red Room, but I’ve never….” He trails off, revulsion curling in his stomach. “Anyway, that night, I overheard the second brother meeting with your mother.” 

For a moment, all Jaehwan hears are their oars slapping against the water. He plunges on without waiting for Taekwoon’s go-ahead. “They were discussing a deal. Or something. It freaked me out, and they caught me trying to listen in.”

Jaehwan looks up at Taekwoon. “I know that you know that I don’t like her, but I hope you know that it’s because I care about you. A lot. And I don’t trust her, and nothing about that night helped out that fact.”

“What happened?” Taekwoon’s voice comes out rough, eyes trained on the shoreline. 

Jaehwan hates that he has to do this. “I was going to tell you about it or ask if you knew anything. I don’t know. It really freaked me out, because the Goldfingers…. I already knew they were bad news.

“I didn’t know Nigel was one, though. I recognized him from the party, and he was a customer, so I started talking to him, and…” Jaehwan shakes his head. “I was stupid. He tricked me. He got me with something that made it so I couldn’t move on my own. And he walked me out back and into some carriage. I couldn’t….” 

“It’s alright,” Taekwoon says. Distress laces his face. His brows are pulled low again and mouth set with a frown, and Jaehwan hates that he is the one who made it that way. 

_No, not his fault. The Goldfingers._

“And so they sunk my mother’s ship. Trying to blame it on you and your demon.” 

Jaehwan sits in silence. 

“Dammit,” Taekwoon hisses. 

“I’m sorry, Taekwoon. I––”

“What are _you_ sorry for?”

“I’m not sure. I just feel like I should say it.” Jaehwan stops rowing, cupping a hand to Taekwoon’s bloody cheek. “Let me see.” 

“I’m fine.”

Jaehwan touches his fingers to the sticky blood and wipes it on his pants. Taekwoon stops rowing but does not pull out of Jaehwan’s touch. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he says.

Jaehwan stays quiet, bunching his tattered white sleeve in his palm to press it against the claw marks. Blood darkens the material. 

“I’m fine,” Taekwoon repeats. 

“It’s a lot of blood,” Jaehwan answers. He prods the wounds, but it seems that the wounds really are non-threatening. “You look terrifying.” 

“I’m sure. Now let’s get back to shore. We can figure out everything once we’re on dry land.” 

Jaehwan grasps his oar again, but he now finds it harder to row, the muscles in his arms protesting the movement. A sharp flare of pain echoes through his chest, reminding him of his own wounds. As they continue to row over the waves, Jaehwan’s breaths become quicker. More shallow. 

While Taekwoon is also panting from the effort, he looks at Jaehwan in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Chest,” he shortly answers. Maybe the adrenaline has finally waned. The closer they get to shore––he can make out the shapes of docked ships, warehouses, light posts––the smaller the waves become, the threat disappearing.

Jaehwan starts to lose time.

Taekwoon takes Jaehwan’s oar form him, leaning across to row both himself. Jaehwan hates to give up, but he finds it hard to catch his breath, his vision now becoming constrained. Tunnel-like.

“Taekwoon,” he gasps. “Something’s wrong.”

If possible, Taekwoon begins to row faster. Even through his diminished vision, Jaehwan can now make out more shapes on the docks. Human shapes. Lots of them.

He feels Taekwoon tense beside him. He tries to tell Jaehwan something, but his words may as well have been in a different language. Jaehwan only registers pain and the sound of his own breathing. His eyelids fall shut, the bright lights making the pain, now radiating out from his chest and into his skull, worse. 

The volume of Taekwoon’s voice rises, becoming ragged, and suddenly Jaehwan feels two sets of hands drag him from the boat. Hands that are not Taekwoon’s. He hears Taekwoon shouting, distant, and Jaehwan opens his eyes to find him, but he only sees strangers.

“Taekwoon,” he murmurs. The hands holding him are too tight, too rough. Where is Taekwoon?

“––under arrest for occult practices of the first degree.”

Someone jerks Jaehwan’s arms behind his back, causing him to yelp, and cold handcuffs lock his wrists together. 

Jaehwan feels himself slump forward, becoming dead weight, before he realizes that his legs have given out beneath him. Where is Taekwoon?

“––needs a healer; something’s wrong with him!”

“––take care of it––”

“––to the station––”

Raised voices, stern voices, bored tones, and agitated ones swirl around Jaehwan as he drifts through different conversations. His body yearns to surrender itself to the darkness that has crept over his vision, and as someone jostles his shoulder especially hard, he no longer has any choice.

//

 

Taekwoon shivers in his damp clothes. They dried minimally in the hours that passed between the Bureau taking Jaehwan into custody and now as Taekwoon oscillates between pestering the front desk and hogging the telephone. 

Just outside the glass front doors, Taekwoon can see the sky start to turn pink with the coming dawn. He looks over his shoulder at the young man sitting at the front desk. The young man levels Taekwoon with a begrudging look. Taekwoon has already spoken to him several times since following the parade of Bureau officers back to their headquarters. Jaehwan is being held somewhere in here, but they will not let him go any further than the lobby without paying Jaehwan’s exorbitant amount of bail. 

Taekwoon wrings his hands together. Had a healer seen to Jaehwan yet? He was unconscious when the officers had shoved him into the back of the carriage. 

Taekwoon had scrambled out of the small boat to follow Jaehwan, to explain that there was a mistake, but an officer stopped him, demanding he also produce his license. Taekwoon, unlike Jaehwan, was able to pull the small card from out of his pocket to show that he had a right to use his magic. 

Jaehwan was charged with using magic without a license, magical destruction of private property, unlicensed magical interaction with a demon, and worst of all, unauthorized summoning within city limits. His bail was set high, higher than all the money that Taekwoon collected from all his recent clients. There is no way for Taekwoon to pay that. 

Taekwoon argued with anyone who crossed his path. He spent all night exhausting their phone lines, filling in Hongbin and Seokjin. Hongbin asked if Jaehwan’s bail could be split between them all, and as tempting and kind of a thought it was, it is still too much. 

Taekwoon approaches the phone again. He hears the receptionist scoff under his breath, but Taekwoon pays him no mind. His mind roves over the details of the night. He clenches his jaw, waiting for the call to connect. 

“Song residence. To whom am I speaking?” 

“This is Taekwoon, Song Jieun’s son. Put me through to her.”

“Just a moment.”

Taekwoon grips the phone tighter in his hand, an ache building in his stomach. He darts his eyes to the Bureau’s front doors as someone wanders through, the bell tinkling. The person makes a beeline for the front desk. Taekwoon drills his fingers as he waits. And waits. 

“Hello? Taekwoon?”

The sound of his mother’s voice crackles over the receiver, and Taekwoon’s stomach lurches as if he had been running and coming to a stop at the edge of a cliff. Again, last night’s details sit heavy with him. Too heavy. 

“Hello?”

Taekwoon licks his lips. “Mother?”

“Taekwoon, is something wrong?” His mother sounds wary, trying to discern his tone. Taekwoon passes a hand over his face; he wishes he could do this face-to-face.

“I found Jaehwan.” 

“Oh, really?” She pauses, and Taekwoon does not know how to decipher it. Her words sound stilted, as if surprised. “How wonderful. Is he alright?”

Taekwoon lets the silence reform between them, staring at the payphone’s black metal casing. He readjusts his grip on the phone. “Last night, I found him in the harbor. On your ship.” 

“You what?”

“You need to tell me why that man, Nigel Goldfinger, put him there.” 

“Taekwoon, I’m sure you’re mistaken.” But her words conflict with the lowering of her voice, as if to not be overheard. “I am sure last night was eventful for you and your friend, but––”

“Stop _lying_ to me.” 

“I swear that I am not.”

“They’re saying he destroyed your ship, but I was on it when it exploded beneath our feet,” Taekwoon seethes. He is careful to keep from yelling into the phone, but the exhaustion wears down his patience. “Why was he left on _your_ ship, defenseless against a demon? I saw Nigel. I know that he does business with you.” And, lying slightly, he says, “I heard what you were talking about the other morning.” 

It may be a lie, but it works. 

His mother scoffs on the other end. “Taekwoon,” her voice comes out placating, like she means to calm a frenzied animal. “We should talk about this in person.”

“You’re not answering me.”

“I think we should discuss this together and not over a phone.” Her tone turns stern, a bite coming out. 

“Answer me.”

“Taekwoon, you––”

“ _Now_.”

“Everything that I did,” his mother growls, all attempts at reasoning with Taekwoon abandoned, “was to protect you from that boy.” 

Taekwoon remembers how he felt when he first entered his mother’s mansion––the high ceilings, the portraits of past ancestors all connecting Taekwoon to something he thought he would never know. He had been wowed by all the things he never had. Wealth. Family. 

Now, Taekwoon only feels disgust.

He had been blind to so many things. He had let himself become someone else so his mother would accept him. Revulsion curls in Taekwoon’s stomach. He staggers back a step. 

Only in the last few days had he begun to question more of who his mother is, but why had he not realized sooner? 

Numb, Taekwoon says, “So you admit it. You meant to hurt him.” Taekwoon feels the walls pressing in on all sides, the room swooping in and out. He looks back towards the front desk, several people now in line to be helped. 

“It is what he deserved for summoning such a creature. He is the one who could have hurt someone. Taekwoon, he has hurt _you_. I know that you can be so much more, but that boy has hurt you terribly. You are at his every beck-and-call,” she says with a sneer. “You are uneducated and barely trained. You should be grateful that I claimed you.”

Taekwoon shakes so violently that he has to lean against the payphone to steady himself. He shuts his eyes. “You’re vile.” The words come out calmer than he feels. “It’s no wonder that Jaehwan didn’t trust you.”

His mother scoffs, but Taekwoon barely hears it. 

When they were in Kyungsoo’s shop, Taekwoon had given the wizard some of his blood. The spell he had pointed to was a lineage spell, something to trace back the blood-giver’s parentage. Jaehwan’s words had always bothered him––“Does that necessarily mean she’s your mother?”––and he needed to be sure once and for all. 

While Jaehwan was missing, Kyungsoo had called Hongbin to let Taekwoon know the results. 

Now, as Taekwoon grips the payphone so hard that his knuckles have turned white, he hates that he is related to this woman by blood. He hates that she would try and hurt Jaehwan. He hates that he wanted someone of his own blood to recognize him as family. He never anticipated something like this happening. 

Taekwoon growls, “You’re going to pay Jaehwan’s bail.”

“Threats will get you nowhere. Go on, tell the Bureau what I have told you. I have plenty of friends in high places. You were at the scene of the crime, were you not?” She chuckles. “See how seriously your accusations are taken.” 

“I’m your son, aren’t I?” Taekwoon barks a laugh, so much louder than anything else in the lobby, but he does not care anymore. “I don’t plan on proving your guilt. I plan on making you regret _claiming_ me.” 

“You are not serious.” 

A long stretch of silence passes as Taekwoon says nothing. If he has to go out and make a fool of himself to get back at his mother, then he will do whatever it takes. 

“Fine,” his mother concedes after a long moment. “I shall arrange it.” 

“Tradewind won’t press charges against him.”

“None at all, but Taekwoon,” she sounds as if her jaw is clenched tight, his name chewed through clenched teeth. “I will be expecting you soon.” 

And she ends the call.


	12. Chapter 12

“Dinner.” 

Jaehwan looks up at the dead-pan voice, a tray of bland-looking food sliding under the gray metal door. He sees the silhouette of someone on the other side. Meals are the only marker of time that he has. Without windows, it has become hard to tell how much time has passed. 

Jaehwan slides off his bench and scoots toward the open slot in the door. “Wait,” he asks, his voice cracking. “What day is it?” 

A scoff. “Wednesday.” The feet then move away from the door, and Jaehwan is once again alone. 

He went missing on Saturday, and the Bureau has been holding him for two days if his meals are any indication. Jaehwan rests his forehead on the cool metal door, letting loose a drawn-out sigh.

Jaehwan rubs his chest, wincing. They made sure he stabilized but had not done any further treatments. Breathing too deeply sends ripples of pain through his chest if he forgets to be careful. 

Jaehwan slowly eats his dinner, but it tastes like nothing and barely satisfies the hunger he feels. He pushes the tray back to the slot in the door before leaning against his bench, tipping his head back against the metal. 

For the hundredth time, Jaehwan is grateful that the demon has been sent back to where it belongs, but it’s hard to appreciate the feeling after staring at the same four gray walls for hours on end. Jaehwan runs his fingers through his dirty hair, shaking his head. He has had little else to dwell on since being taken in, and while sending the demon was the right thing to do, he hates his situation. 

He closes his eyes and sighs. 

_“Jaehwan, I love you.”_

He oscillates between thinking about the demon and thinking about what Taekwoon told him on the sinking ship. He has replayed the words too many times in his head; he no longer blushes when he thinks of them. 

Jaehwan grips fistfuls of his hair, letting out a more frustrated sigh. He coughs. 

He explored every possibility of what Taekwoon could have meant. Taekwoon said he loved him. Was it just something said in a desperate moment? Had Taekwoon really meant it? Jaehwan supposed Taekwoon could mean it non-romantically. And the more Jaehwan thinks about it, the less sure he is that Taekwoon had meant it any other way. 

If he remembers it correctly at all.

_“I love you.”_

Had he really said that? 

Jaehwan lays on his bench, now staring at the ceiling. He has no idea what else Taekwoon could have said, but the more that Jaehwan replays the memory, the more sure he is that the memory is fragmented in some way, that he somehow got it wrong. 

Footsteps approach his cell, and Jaehwan perks up. Are they turning the lights out already? Surely not that much time passed yet. 

A key turns in his lock and the door swings outward to show a stern-faced Bureau officer. “It’s your lucky day,” the officer intones. “Your bail’s been paid in full.” 

“It…what?”

“Come on.” Impatiently, the officer waves a hand, and Jaehwan jumps to his feet. They will not have to tell him twice. 

The officer holds Jaehwan around his upper arm as they walk back down the narrow corridor of holding cells. Jaehwan’s feet feel lighter than they have in days, the prospect of leaving sending his spirits soaring. 

_Please, don’t let this be a mistake._

“Whoever paid your bail must really want you back.” 

Jaehwan detects suspicion in the officer’s voice, and he chooses to hold his tongue. Better he stay quiet than give the Bureau any reason to speculate. Besides, Jaehwan has no idea who would have paid his bail. As far as he was aware, the exorbitant amount had sealed him away until the city could decide what to do with him.

Who had that much money to spare? 

Suddenly, his steps falter at the thought. Someone with that much money…. It cannot be anyone that he knows or is friendly with. 

The officer marches him along, however, and soon they pass through the gated door that leads them into the small room that allows those convicted of Bureau-related crimes to converse with those on the outside through an enchanted glass barrier. 

On the other side of the glass stands Hongbin. 

His face visibly brightens when he sees Jaehwan, and Jaehwan feels himself do the same. Dark circles hang underneath Hongbin’s eyes and his pink hair seems almost blond now, but seeing him, after the events of the past week, causes Jaehwan’s eyes to sting. 

And then he notices the two individuals flanking his friend. Jaehwan did not immediately associate them with Hongbin as they stand several steps back from him, but they are too close to be waiting for anyone else. Jaehwan does not recognize them. The pair, a bald man and a woman with severe bun, are similarly dressed in plain clothing, but their matching rigid posture and expressions unsettle Jaehwan more than anything else. 

The Bureau officer forces Jaehwan to stand still as they remove the magic-suppressing cuffs from his wrists. The cuffs snap off his arms with a loud clang. 

The officer places a firm hand on Jaehwan’s back and guides him to the small door that will let him pass safely through the barrier. 

Can this really be happening? 

There must be a catch. Uneasiness rises within Jaehwan now that his cold cell is behind him and the pair of strangers face him. Jaehwan keeps his eyes on Hongbin, searching his face for hints. Hongbin, however, manages to keep a placid expression. He seems happy to see Jaehwan, but when Jaehwan passes through the door, finally on the side of the free-roaming, Hongbin remains where he stands. Arms folded over each other, straight-backed and stiff. 

Jaehwan opens his mouth, but Hongbin shakes his head, so slight that Jaehwan thinks he imagines it. 

“Lee Jaehwan,” the officer announces, “you’re free to go.” 

The officer accompanies their group to the main lobby, people trickling out now that late evening has arrived. The orange sky can be seen outside the glass doors–– _outside_. Anticipation crawls through Jaehwan appendages, but the odd pair of strangers walks much too close for Jaehwan to feel any true sense of relief. Hongbin wraps an arm around Jaehwan’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze, but as the seconds drag on and Hongbin fails to let him go, Jaehwan feels less and less comforted. 

They pass through the front door. 

Fresh air hits Jaehwan’s face. He takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. He never thought he would appreciate the smell of the city. 

Hongbin still has an arm around Jaehwan’s shoulder, directing Jaehwan around the side of the Bureau’s headquarters to where a carriage awaits. 

Jaehwan stops in his tracks. 

The Tradewind logo engraved in the door chills his heart, his stomach flipping inside him. Hongbin tugs on him, and Jaehwan looks into his friend’s face to finally see that his happy expression has cracked. He looks at Jaehwan, eyes imploring. “It’s alright,” he says.

But Jaehwan is not convinced. 

“Right this way, sirs.” The bald man steps up behind them, so close that his chest brushes against the arm Hongbin has around Jaehwan. His voice rumbles, serious and deadly. 

The woman marches ahead, lifting herself into the driver’s seat. She gathers the horse reins in her hands. 

“Hongbin,” Jaehwan asks, “what’s happening?”  
“Everything’s fine.” Hongbin gives him a tight-lipped smile. 

“Sirs, let us go. We must be on our way.” 

Jaehwan looks back at the bald man, but before he can ask, the man steps forward, corralling them toward the carriage. 

And, to Jaehwan’s shock, Hongbin tugs him forward. 

They climb inside the carriage, and no sooner does the bald man shut the door behind Jaehwan, does the carriage lurch forward, starting to move. He breathes a sigh of relief, thankful the man chose to not join them.

“Hongbin, what’s––”

A flurry of hands and words assault Jaehwan and it takes him a second to process that Hongbin has thrown himself across the compartment and into Jaehwan. Hongbin clutches him so hard that Jaehwan fears he may stop breathing. He gasps. 

Hongbin immediately lets up, holding Jaehwan at arm’s-length. He apologizes over and over, but Jaehwan shushes him. “What’s this all about about? What’s going on?”

“You got sprung, what do you think?” Jaehwan fixes Hongbin with a look, and Hongbin crumbles instantly. He shakes his head. “You’ll have to thank Taekwoon for it.”

“What do you mean?” 

“His mother paid your bail.” Hongbin snorts.

“What? Why?”

“Well, it’s not because she’s generous.”

“How much has Taekwoon told you? Where is he?” 

Hongbin rests his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair. “It’s outrageous, y’know. That’d she do such a thing.” Hongbin stares at Jaehwan, a dark look clouding his face. “What an evil thing to do.” 

But Taekwoon––Jaehwan wants to hear about _Taekwoon_. He clenches and unclenches his fists, waiting for Hongbin to elaborate. 

“I’ll be honest,” Hongbin says, “I haven’t seen Taekwoon much. I got a call from him yesterday, saying that I would need to be there for your release.” He jerks his thumb at the roof. “Along with those two.” Hongbin shrugs, looking perplexed. “I don’t know how he did it, but Taekwoon got his mother to agree to pay your bail.” 

Jaehwan chews on his lower lip, his hands dug into the plush seat beneath him. It makes sense if Song Jieun paid for his release. The thought, however, unsettles Jaehwan even more. Taekwoon went to his mother to free him. She was the one to put him there; what had Taekwoon bargained for her to agree?

Jaehwan thinks of Taekwoon’s face, wet hair plastered to his cheeks. The storm had raged around them, but Taekwoon proved to be the true tempest. Yet, when his hands gripped Jaehwan, they were steady.

“Taekwoon mentioned that you were hurt that night.” Hongbin chews his lip. “We’ve been really worried about you.” 

Jaehwan looks away. “I’m fine.” He does not like the feeling of Hongbin’s eyes on him, and Jaehwan pulls back the curtain, glimpsing the movement of the city. He switches subjects, eager to talk about anything else. “Where are they taking us?” 

“My place.” 

“I’d like to go home.” 

“Taekwoon’s not there.” 

Jaehwan looks sharply to Hongbin, the curtain falling through his fingers. “How do you know?” 

Hongbin sighs. “Taekwoon told me you should come back with me. At least for a bit.” 

Jaehwan tries to sift through the implications of that statement, but he becomes quickly dissatisfied at how little he knows. The worry that twists his stomach knots itself tighter and tighter. He curls his fingers into fists. “Where is he?”

“He didn’t say. Just said he would be gone for a bit.” 

Hongbin keeps his eyes trained on the fluttering curtains and will not raise them to Jaehwan’s questioning eyes. The warmth empties from his chest. Jaehwan sits on his side of the carriage, left cold in the absence of answers. He bites his lip to keep a rush of questions from spilling out. 

_Taekwoon, what have you done?_

 

They arrive at Hongbin’s apartment without incident, but Jaehwan waits to feel relief until Hongbin has locked his door behind them. Hakyeon, perched on the couch, jumps up and gives Jaehwan a small smile before wrapping Hongbin in a tight hug. 

Obviously, Jaehwan’s apprehension had been shared by more than just himself. 

Then, Hakyeon kisses Hongbin square on the mouth. 

Jaehwan feels his own mouth fall open. He recovers quickly, though, averting his eyes from the intimate display, and he catches Hakyeon’s dark tail flick happily behind him. Jaehwan turns in a half-circle, to look anywhere but _them_ , but the problem with Hongbin’s apartment is how _small_ it is. 

They break apart, and Jaehwan stops pretending to check the lock on the door. 

Not long after, Hakyeon leaves for work, and Hongbin turns his attention back to Jaehwan. “Sit,” he orders, pointing at the couch. 

After a small argument, Hongbin coerces Jaehwan into removing his shirt to let him heal him. Jaehwan tries to protest, but after Hongbin pushes on Jaehwan’s chest, drawing a wince from him, there is not much left to argue. 

Hongbin barely breaks a sweat as he rearranges the bones in Jaehwan’s chest, fingers probing at his muscles, but Jaehwan can tell that the process winds him. Jaehwan stares at the ceiling. With Hongbin preoccupied, he says, “You and Hakyeon. That’s new.”

Without looking up, Hongbin scoffs, “Not so new. It took you long enough, though.”

Jaehwan blinks. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I was,” Hongbin says, taking a moment to push on Jaehwan’s ribs with his fingers. “But then I was waiting to see how long it’d take you to figure it out.”

“Wh– How was I supposed to know?”

“He spends almost every night here; you really didn’t suspect anything?”

Hongbin looks up at Jaehwan, wearing a half-smile, but something not so lighthearted stabs Jaehwan’s heart. Maybe it is testament to how much he has neglected his friend of late. Too busy with his own problems. Too busy imagining Hakyeon and Taekwoon together.

How wrong he was. 

“I’m happy for you,” Jaehwan says, and this time a genuine smile creeps onto his mouth.

Hongbin hastily looks away, a blush coloring his cheeks. “Shut it.” 

As he finishes his work, Hongbin passes his hands over the puncture wounds on Jaehwan’s neck and pokes and prods the rest of him to find anything else out of place. He finds nothing, however, and points Jaehwan in the direction of the bathroom. “Hakyeon should’ve put some clothes and a towel in there.”

“Thanks, Hongbin.” 

“Yeah, yeah. My house is your spa.” 

Jaehwan showers, scrubbing until his skin turns pink. He shampoos twice to make sure all the grime has been washed from his hair, and he spends awhile just standing under the spray and relishing the way the water feels on his skin. Eventually, he climbs out, and he dresses himself in what must be Hongbin’s old clothes. 

Day has turned to night, and when Jaehwan emerges from the bathroom, he finds Hongbin readying the couch for Jaehwan to sleep on. He dumps a mass of blankets and a spare pillow onto the couch.

“I really appreciate you doing this.” 

Hongbin starts to wave away Jaehwan’s sentiment, but Jaehwan wraps him in a tight hug. Hongbin pretends to act bothered by it, but before long, the younger reciprocates and holds Jaehwan close to him. 

That night, Jaehwan stares at the ceiling, a pang echoing through his chest. At first, he thinks it to be aftereffects of his wound, but his thoughts drift and take shape in the form of Taekwoon’s arms around him. Jaehwan may be free but can Taekwoon say the same? 

He wishes he could ask him. 

 

Jaehwan awakes the next morning from a fitful sleep but with renewed determination. How long did Taekwoon expect him to impose upon Hongbin’s hospitality? With only slight protests from Hongbin, Jaehwan relays to him that he needs to go home. 

With or without Taekwoon. 

The trek home is uneventful, which is more than Jaehwan can ask for. Heo’s house comes into view when he rounds the corner of their street, and a wave of familiarity washes over Jaehwan. _Home_. The idea of coming home without Taekwoon had upset him yesterday, but he had just been released from the Bureau’s custody. He had spent three days thinking that he would be locked away for much longer, so much longer. 

As Jaehwan glimpses the red shutters and the broken porch steps, a snort escapes him. 

He was wrong about this too; he loves coming home. 

Jaehwan has no key on him, something that he forgot about when he was still half-asleep and telling Hongbin that he would be fine, that he needed to come home. He curses at himself and drops to his knees, putting his hand over the lock. 

He checks over his shoulder before releasing his magic. 

Jaehwan remembers the old memory of him and Taekwoon escaping from the magic school, Taekwoon using his magic as a key to let them escape through the front door. 

This is not that. 

The Chaos magic blasts a hole in the door, blowing off the door handle and taking a chunk out of the frame. Jaehwan curses loudly, waving smoke away from his face. Shards of metal and splinters rain around him and leave a mess at his feet, but remarkably, the door swings open. 

A small part of Jaehwan hoped that Taekwoon would already be home, that he would look up from the couch and put down whatever book he’s been reading. That thought may or may not end with Taekwoon sweeping Jaehwan into a kiss.

Instead, the house is dark and still, the air slightly musty as if undisturbed for days. 

Jaehwan tries to not let it get him down and focuses on fixing the door. The encounter with the Bureau scared him, but it did not affect his willingness to use his magic. In fact, he missed the way it arcs down his arms and sparks in his fingertips. 

Very messily, Jaehwan sticks the door shut but has no remedy for the gaping hole in it. “It will have to do for now,” he tells no one. 

Jaehwan spends the morning finding stray dirty dishes and re-homing books that have been pulled off their respective shelves. He folds blankets and tidies tables. He sweeps the floor and wipes down surfaces. He slowly puts the house into a reputable state, something that had gotten away from them in the past weeks, and worsened likely with the stress of Jaehwan’s disappearance. 

Jaehwan changes into his own clothes and folds Hongbin’s neatly into a stack. His hands brush over his collarbone not for the first time remembering that he lost Taekwoon’s necklace. He sighs and returns downstairs. 

Jaehwan has his hands submerged in the kitchen sink’s soapy water when he hears a scratching behind him. He whirls around, heart jumping in his throat, when he sees Taekwoon walk through the back door. 

Both freeze, eyes on each other. 

Soapy water drips from Jaehwan’s hands onto the floor. Jaehwan tries to say something but all he utters is a small, “Oh.”

Taekwoon’s sudden appearance has robbed him of all the things he needs to tell Taekwoon. _“I missed you.” “I’ve been waiting for you.” “Where have you been?” “What did you mean the other night because it’s all I can think about.”_

All he can think about now is the fact that soap is dripping onto the floor and that this is the first time he has seen Taekwoon in days and Taekwoon’s _hair_ …. Jaehwan’s thoughts short-circuit as he tries to process what he sees. Once long enough to gather into a ponytail, Taekwoon’s hair has been sheared off. 

Jaehwan blinks. The happiness that he anticipated to feel at finally seeing Taekwoon does not come. Instead, something aches deep within him. 

Taekwoon stands frozen in the kitchen as if caught doing something wrong. He does not smile at Jaehwan; he looks as if trying to assemble how Jaehwan stands before him washing their dirty dishes. 

Time has slowed down. How long has the silence lasted? Too long––it has been too long and neither has said a word. 

“Hi,” Jaehwan blurts out, stupidly. Words––any, all of them––seem too unfitting. Jaehwan knows not what to say, and he wipes his wet hands on his pants to busy himself with _something_.

“Hi,” Taekwoon returns, his voice coming out hoarse. He shifts his weight to his other foot. Taekwoon, notorious for wearing his hair messy and long, has never worn it this short. The top has mercifully been spared, but the sides have been taken short, close to his scalp. Jaehwan quickly takes in the rest of Taekwoon––the styled hair swept back from his face, the careful crease of his pants, shiny black shoes. 

Taekwoon manages to find his words before Jaehwan. “I thought you were staying with Hongbin,” he says. He says it like it was a plan that Jaehwan arranged himself rather than his own request. 

“I thought I’d like to come home.” 

Jaehwan knows that he is not imagining Taekwoon’s discomfort. He shifts his weight again, eyes darting around the kitchen and failing to land on Jaehwan. The feeling in Jaehwan’s chest begins to transform into something darker, something with teeth. 

This not how Jaehwan thought this would go. 

“What happened to your hair?” 

Taekwoon touches his hair, like he forgot it and says, “Oh, I cut it.” 

“I can see that.” 

Taekwoon looks like he has come from somewhere important, looking so different, while Jaehwan has food stuck under his fingernails, sleep-deprived and still a bit gaunt-looking from his almost week-long trip through hell and back. For a moment, the old worries nag at Jaehwan, trying to goad him into comparing himself to Taekwoon, to ask himself how he could possibly entertain the idea that Taekwoon is in love with him. 

And then, the moment passes. 

Jaehwan sucks in a breath through his nose and exhales it slowly, refocusing himself. The worries are not silenced––they cannot, they have deep roots––but Jaehwan thinks other things _louder_. 

He shifts thoughts away from himself and back to Taekwoon. He sees Taekwoon’s discomfort. He assumed it has something to do with himself, but Taekwoon’s mother was the one who paid off Jaehwan’s bail, the one who tried to entangle him in her scheme as a scapegoat without caring if he died. No one could be comfortable with that. 

Just because something involves Jaehwan does not necessarily mean it has to be because of him. 

Jaehwan clears his throat. “Where’d you go?” He keeps any accusation out of his voice. He keeps his tone level, mildly curious, like he did not notice that Taekwoon has not been here in several days. 

Taekwoon licks his lips, dropping his eyes to the floor. “At a company event.” Taekwoon must mistake Jaehwan’s following silence for anger, and he hastily adds, “I didn’t want to go. I hardly understood anything they talked about.” 

Jaehwan needs to hear no more. He rushes Taekwoon, effectively cutting him off by squeezing him into a fierce hug. “I missed you.” 

Slowly, Taekwoon’s arms come around Jaehwan, finally releasing the tension in his body as he relaxes into the younger. “I,” he says, voice scraping his throat, “missed you too.” 

Thanks to Jaehwan’s cleaning, there are enough mugs for Taekwoon to start brewing coffee, and while the scent of coffee fills the house, Taekwoon changes clothes. 

Jaehwan’s admission burst the balloon of tension that had swollen inappropriately between them, and Taekwoon moves about the house more sure and more forthcoming now that he knows that Jaehwan is not angry with him. He returns with lighter steps and eyes that freely look at Jaehwan. 

How glad Jaehwan feels for not voicing his initial thoughts. 

Taekwoon pushes a cup of coffee into Jaehwan’s hand even though Jaehwan does not relish coffee the same way Taekwoon does. However, the older knows exactly how he takes it when he does, and Jaehwan likes the way the cup warms his hand––likes it better when Taekwoon hops up beside him on the kitchen counter with his own cup. 

“Hongbin told me what you did.” 

The words disrupt Taekwoon’s calm expression. He presses his lips together, eyebrows upturned. “Oh, yeah?” 

Jaehwan does not like the look on his face, but he relays what Hongbin told him about his release from the Bureau––Song Jieun’s involvement and the implication of Taekwoon’s. He refrains from commenting on Taekwoon’s new hair and outfit and how that fits into the events of the past few days. He needs to broach the subject gently. 

Taekwoon’s fingers tighten on his mug, but he has no explanation for Jaehwan. Jaehwan can see the thoughts turning over in Taekwoon’s brain. Nothing comes out, though. Jaehwan changes tactics. 

“How’d you find me that night?”

After a long sip of coffee, Taekwoon shrugs. At least this line of conversation keeps him talking. “I just kept looking. I had lots of help from all your friends, you know. We were all worried.” 

Worried seems like an understatement as Taekwoon’s hands grip the mug too hard, his tone sounding too casual. Jaehwan glances down, noting their thighs pressed together. Small tingles ripple up and down Jaehwan’s leg.

“I tried several locator spells, and finally,” Taekwoon shrugs again, “one worked.” He snorts. “I never expected, though, for you to be in the harbor. I had been at Hongbin’s, waiting by the phone to hear something. Hongbin had gone out, and so had Hakyeon––”

“Did you know they’re dating?”

“They what?” Taekwoon’s eyes grow wide, snapping his head toward Jaehwan. 

“Yeah, I just found out too.” Jaehwan feels slight satisfaction that he had not been the only to not have picked up on that fact.

“Huh.”

“Well,” Jaehwan gestures with his hand, “please, continue.” 

“Anyway, after I tried the spell, and it worked, I wasted no time. I left Hongbin a note and left his apartment. Seokjin had found your things at work, so I was carrying around your amulet, but I didn’t take anything else.” Taekwoon shakes his head. 

“As I approached the docks, I saw a group leaving, and it wasn’t until later that I realized it was––”

“Nigel.”

“Right. All I saw was that they had tried to sink a lifeboat. I raised it from the water, and used it.” Taekwoon shrugs although he was not asked anything. “I knew you were on the unmoored ship––for whatever reason––and I was so focused on getting to you that nothing else mattered.” 

Jaehwan licks his lower lip and asks directly, “Taekwoon, why did your mother bail me out?” 

“Because I asked.” 

“And what did you give up in return?” Jaehwan plunges on when Taekwoon does not immediately respond. “I’m not stupid. If she went through such lengths to incriminate me, then she must have gotten something in exchange.” 

When Taekwoon is still quiet, Jaehwan reaches up and runs his fingers through the short hair around his ears. 

Jaehwan has an idea what it might be.

“I’m to be part of the family.” Taekwoon pauses for a beat, running his thumb on the outside of his mug. He already drank half his coffee. “I’m to attend meetings with her, meet all her friends, and to learn the business. She wants me as a successor.”

Jaehwan’s hand slips from Taekwoon’s hair to his shoulder. 

“She wants a legacy,” he says. “She still wants to tote around the story that we were tragically ripped apart, but,” his knuckles tighten around his mug, wearing a grimace, “there’s so much I don’t know about her. She tried to hurt you to get to me, and….”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know; I can’t trust her.” Taekwoon takes another sip. “I don’t think she wanted anything to do with me until recently.” 

“Taekwoon, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not… It’s not so bad, though. Learning about them.”

_He’s lying._

Gently, Jaehwan asks, “Is that what this is?” He touches Taekwoon’s hair again. “You didn’t have to change yourself for her. I’m the one who made a mistake, and we knew there was a chance that the Bureau would get involved.” 

“My mother shouldn’t have interfered. She didn’t care about your demon or the safety of others. She just took the opportunity. Just like she took the opportunity to come forward and claim me only when I’d done something worthy of her attention.

“Why do you think you were sentenced so heavily in the first place?” Taekwoon shakes his head. “It’s fixed––the whole thing.” 

Jaehwan has no idea what to say. Nigel’s words come back about Song Jieun seeking marriage partners, about making the the company more accepting of her son. Had everything he said been a lie? Or were there inklings of truth? 

“Anyway,” Taekwoon murmurs as he brings his mug close to his mouth. His eyes stare straight ahead rather than at Jaehwan when he says, “I won’t just roll over to them. My mother will go through the trouble of teaching me how to run the business. ” He takes another long sip. “She may regret that by the time we’re through.” 

Jaehwan looks up at Taekwoon to find the other’s eyes trained on him, so intense that Jaehwan wants to avert his gaze. He resists, though. Taekwoon’s eyes trail down the side of his face, no doubt noticing how his cheeks have thinned, the roughened and split skin of his lips. Taekwoon lingers on Jaehwan’s mouth. 

Taekwoon’s loose hand, resting on his thigh, shifts as if to touch Jaehwan’s. Jaehwan watches as Taekwoon stops, then pulls his hand back. 

He can take no more of this.

“The other night,” Jaehwan blurts, “what did you mean? On the ship. You said that you loved me.” 

At first he thinks that Taekwoon will neglect to answer him. His eyes widen almost comically, and he ducks his head to stare at his knees. When he chooses to speak, it comes out quietly. “I did. I _do_ love you.” 

Time suspends itself. 

All of Jaehwan’s thoughts become background noise as Taekwoon’s words buzz in his mind, echoing louder and louder. “Say it again,” he slowly says.

“What?” 

“Say what you said.” 

Jaehwan leans forward, and Taekwoon turns his head to him, looking up through his eyelashes. “I…love you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Taekwoon splutters. “What do you–– What do you think I _mean_?” 

Jaehwan puts aside his coffee in fear of spilling it. He clutches Taekwoon’s loose sleeve as if to keep him in place although Taekwoon has not budged from the spot. “In what way,” Jaehwan asks. “Tell me in what way you do.” 

Exasperated, Taekwoon’s brows furrow. “In what way _else_?” Two spots of color rise to his cheeks. “Not as a friend. I mean, you are my friend, but it’s different. This is different. I love you as my friend, but also. More. Different. _I_ want more.” 

Jaehwan may slip right off the counter. So focused is he on keeping Taekwoon in place, that he missed the way his body trembles, threatening to send him right to the floor.

Taekwoon plunges on. “I almost told you so many times, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel.” He averts his gaze again, once again to his knees. “I understand, though, if you don’t feel the same. I’m not asking you to. I thought– Last week, I thought I almost lost you. For good.

“So I know you may not feel the same, but I’ve been in love with you so long. I don’t want to tell you half-truths anymore. I’m not– I don’t have much experience with this or anything, but, Jaehwan, I hope you get what I’m saying.” 

Jaehwan has no idea what to say. 

No. He does know. 

“How long has this– How long?” Jaehwan shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t matter. I mean, it does, and I’m interested, but,” he laughs, a teetering and wild sort of sound, “you have no idea. You really had no idea?” 

Taekwoon is the one to blink, studying Jaehwan carefully. Whatever response he thought he would get, this is not it. He blinks again, his mouth falling open. The words try to come out, but Jaehwan can no longer wait. 

Jaehwan puts a hand on Taekwoon’s arm. “I love _you_. I have since forever.” He laughs again, and he thinks that his reality might be unspooling. He expects to wake up any second back in the Bureau cell.

Taekwoon blinks again, saying nothing. He opens his mouth. Then shuts it. “You– you don’t have to…. Not for my sake––”

“Your sake?” Jaehwan swells up, a giddy and exasperated sort of feeling unfurling in his chest. “I didn’t fall in love with you for ‘your sake.’ This isn’t new. I’ve been in love with you too.” 

Taekwoon’s dumbstruck expression spurs Jaehwan on. “You really had no idea?” 

“No. No, not at all.” 

Jaehwan grabs Taekwoon’s hand in his and brings it to his face, the back of Taekwoon’s hand resting on his cheek. He breathes in deeply. _Please, let this be real._

He must be dreaming when Taekwoon’s fingers brush his skin. Taekwoon’s second hand comes up, palm on Jaehwan’s other cheek, a jolt running through Jaehwan’s chest. Taekwoon leans in. His body angles itself closer to Jaehwan, as close as they can get on the small space the kitchen counter provides.

Jaehwan’s eyes study Taekwoon’s mouth, the hard edge of his jaw. He bites his lip, trying to keep one last confession back, but he finds he needs to say it now or never speak it into existence. Jaehwan lets out a shaky breath. 

“I left because I was jealous.” 

The words hang between them, suspended by Jaehwan’s trembling resolution. Taekwoon, who had been slowly leaning in, pauses and his eyes find Jaehwan’s. His expression flummoxes, and Jaehwan for a moment cannot read what he thinks. He rushes on, saying, “I was going through a lot at the time, and I wasn’t great at handling it––you know that. But I, as stupid and selfish as it is, couldn’t stand to see you with someone else.” He breaks off and softly asks, “Are you sure that you’re in love with me?” 

Taekwoon still stares into Jaehwan’s eyes, his walls all the way down. He cradles Jaehwan’s face between his hands like he has been entrusted with something rare, something he has never seen. But they know each other; they have known each other this whole time. Taekwoon caresses his thumb against Jaehwan’s cheek, and a smile rises to his face. 

“I’m sure,” Taekwoon answers. “If you’d only told me, you would have saved me so much trouble.” 

Jaehwan feels his mouth go dry. His whole body shakes, apprehension turning to anticipation turning to want inside of him. His smile matches Taekwoon’s. “I guess trouble’s just my modus operandi.” 

“It’s worth it.” 

Taekwoon leans forward, mouth inches from Jaehwan’s. He pauses, likely a million thoughts racing through his mind, so Jaehwan does him a favor and closes the distance. 

Their mouths meet. Jaehwan’s lips press to Taekwoon’s and softly work against him, tasting Taekwoon’s bitter coffee. He inhales Taekwoon’s after-shave and whatever gel he used, and Jaehwan fights to get closer to him, to never be apart from Taekwoon ever again. 

Taekwoon stills in Jaehwan’s hands, as if unsure what to do. He tightens his hold on Jaehwan. And then, finally, Taekwoon kisses him back. Jaehwan grins into their kiss.

“What?”

Jaehwan laughs and his eyes flutter open. “I love you so much. That’s all.” Taekwoon makes a surprised noise in his throat, and Jaehwan laughs louder. He kisses the side of Taekwoon’s mouth and then his jaw.

He has wanted to do this for so long. 

Taekwoon breaks their kiss by jumping off the counter, and Jaehwan protests until the taller hooks his arms around Jaehwan’s waist, lifting him up. On instinct, Jaehwan wraps his legs around Taekwoon’s middle, throwing his arms around the older’s neck. Jaehwan digs his fingers into the short hair at the base of Taekwoon’s neck. “I didn’t know bookworms worked out.” 

Taekwoon walks them out to the living room, careful to not bang Jaehwan against the doorway. “Don’t hold your breath,” he answers, and he collapses unceremoniously onto the couch with Jaehwan still in his arms. 

Jaehwan’s back hits the cushions, not so gracefully, but he only laughs as Taekwoon scoots forward, hovering over him. Taekwoon keeps staring at him, and a flush of embarrassment rises in Jaehwan when he realizes just how many times he has dreamed this.

“I’m not dreaming, right?”

Taekwoon leans down, pecking his nose. “No. Not dreaming.”

Jaehwan reaches up and puts his hands through Taekwoon’s hair, his fingers disrupting the uniform shape. He tugs Taekwoon back into a kiss, and Taekwoon presses Jaehwan harder into the couch, lacing their fingers together. 

A warmth blossoms in Jaehwan’s chest, and he is oblivious to what it is until Taekwoon makes a noise, causing him to open his eyes. 

Around them swirls Jaehwan’s magic. Harmlessly dancing around them, lighting up Taekwoon’s face. Taekwoon watches the magic for a moment; the lights dance across his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Jaehwan hastily says. “I didn’t mean––”

Threads of blue magic joins in, softly mixing with Jaehwan’s, and sends more warm shivers down Jaehwan’s spine. “There,” Taekwoon says, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

“Show off.” 

But Jaehwan has never felt happier in his life. 

The caress of their combined magicks warms Jaehwan even though he shudders under Taekwoon’s touch. He presses closer, wanting more and nipping at Taekwoon’s lips. They kiss again, their breaths coming faster and hearts rocketing inside their chests. 

Something thumps outside on the porch. 

Jaehwan does not immediately notice, since his thoughts are otherwise caught up in Taekwoon, but he realizes something must not be right when Taekwoon stiffens. Taekwoon breaks off the kiss again, his eyes going to the front door. He sits up, his magic retreating so it pools only in his palms. 

“What’s wrong?” Jaehwan asks.

No sooner do the words leave his mouth does the door swing open, and by swing open, it falls flat into the living room. The magic Jaehwan used to keep it in place dissipates with the crash.

The Wolf of New Haven stands in the doorway, his hair ragged around his face, dark circles under his eyes. Gray streaks through the hair at his temples, but otherwise he looks nearly the same as when he left.

“What the hell happened to my door?” His voice rumbles into the house, and Jaehwan feels a tug in his gut. Taekwoon scrambles off the couch–– _off Jaehwan_ ––but Heo’s eyes have already found them. 

His expression does not change, however, just flits between Taekwoon and Jaehwan. The hard line of his mouth furrows deeper. “Does somebody want to tell me why my house looks like shit?” 

Just then, Yeonju pushes around Heo, squeezing into the house. “Hello,” she says in a sing-song voice. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles at both Taekwoon and Jaehwan, either oblivious to their red faces or choosing to ignore it. “Good to see that you’re both here.” 

“You.” Heo points a finger at Jaehwan. “You’re here. What are you doing here?”

“Me? I…. Well, I––”

“This one,” Heo points a finger at Taekwoon, “sent a letter saying you got tossed in jail.” Once again Heo looks between Taekwoon and Jaehwan. “So does someone wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

“Well, it’s a long story,” Jaehwan starts.

“I’ve got plenty of time––”

Heo’s cut off by Yeonju laying a hand on his shoulder, giving a firm look before turning something softer towards Taekwoon and Jaehwan. “First let’s try, ‘Hi, boys.’” Yeonju slips the wide-brimmed hat off her head and kicks off her flats without further preamble. “I’m sure they’d love to tell us what the tizzy’s about, but let’s just be glad everyone’s alright.” 

Taekwoon looks like he’s swallowed something sour, his face pinched. “I sent another, saying you didn’t have to come.” Quietly, he adds, “I had no idea if you’d come anyway.” 

Heo opens his mouth, but Yeonju pinches him––hard. “No, it’s alright,” she says. “We agreed that we’d been away far too long. It was time to come home.” Yeonju’s eyes slide to Jaehwan, and he’s very aware of the fact that his cheeks are still red, hair mussed no doubt. Yeonju still wears her smile, but something changes in her expression. Knowing. Aware. 

Jaehwan’s face flares brighter.

 

//

 

It takes a regrettable amount of time to relay the events leading up to Jaehwan’s stint in a Bureau prison cell. 

Heo and Yeonju are stunned at Jaehwan’s story. The Chaos magic, the demon––it is a lot to take in, and Taekwoon winces every time Heo interjects with an angry exhale or confused grunt. He expected this, though. Taekwoon grimaces when Yeonju, yet again, has to tell him to shut it so Jaehwan can finish explaining. 

But of course, Jaehwan’s story is not complete without Taekwoon’s, and Taekwoon has to force out his own involvement, explaining why Jaehwan would become entangled with a business tycoon. 

Taekwoon relays everything with his eyes trained on the table. He bounces his knee, shifting in the chair. They all had moved to the kitchen table once Heo and Yeonju realized that their story was more than just a simple string of events, something that could not be relayed quickly. 

Jaehwan sits to Taekwoon’s left and Yeonju to his right, but that means that Heo is directly across from him, the heavy gaze trained on Taekwoon. He cannot meet his eyes. 

Maybe that communicates Taekwoon’s own guilt, but he cannot bring himself to look. 

He stumbles over his portion of the story, keeping his eyes on the nicks in the table’s surface as he talks about his mother, how she found him. 

Taekwoon braces for the worst when he finishes. His chest feels empty––hollow. The happiness he felt at Jaehwan being in his arms, realizing that he has had nothing to worry about all this time, has dissipated. It has been replaced by a crushing feeling, one similar to the weight of his mentor’s gaze. Taekwoon can’t look at him. 

He darts a look to Yeonju; he can tell that she has a plethora of things to say all on the tip of her tongue, but she bites her lower lip. Does she have any idea where to start? 

Heo’s chair scrapes against the floor, and Taekwoon returns his eyes to a specific gash in the table. Jaehwan’s gaze burns into the side of his face, but he forces himself to not look. His stomach twists. His heart jumps in his chest. 

He knew this would happen. Yet he still did all the things Heo told him not to do. 

He anticipates Heo’s gruff voice, the cutting words. _“I want you out of my house. No student of mine acts like you have.”_ Will he give Taekwoon time to gather his things? Will Yeonju go along with it, or will she try to stick up for them? 

Taekwoon feels Heo’s looming presence at his shoulder, and his heart skips. His knee bounces out of rhythm under the table. 

“Idiots,” Heo hisses. 

Taekwoon squeezes his eyes shut, his shoulders slumping, until a heavy hand drops onto the top of his head. 

_What?_

He looks up to see Heo staring down at him. His eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a grim line, initially he looks angry until Taekwoon sees his jaw trembling. Heo clears his throat, digging his fingers harder into Taekwoon’s scalp. 

The man leans over to hook an arm around Jaehwan’s neck, tugging him to his side. His grip never leaves Taekwoon, though. Jaehwan also looks startled by the sudden show of affection, and he peeks at Taekwoon with wide eyes. Obviously, Jaehwan did not expect this either. 

Heo clears his throat again. “I always knew I couldn’t leave you alone. Surprised the house is still standing.” He clears his throat _again_ ––and Taekwoon realizes with horror that the man’s trying not to cry. 

Taekwoon shoots wide eyes to Yeonju, but she is the only one to smile as she stares at her partner, shaking her head. 

Taekwoon gets to his feet, and Heo’s hand slips away from his hair. 

Almost the same height, Taekwoon stares into his mentor’s face, into the man’s watery eyes. He sees the guilt; he sees the months that have come between them, the walls Taekwoon tried to rebuild around himself all because he’d been left behind. He sees the lines around his eyes; there are more than there used to be.

Taekwoon should tell him. He should tell Heo exactly what he thinks about the lack of responses to his letters. He should tell Heo that it hurt to watch him and Yeonju leave, that he had done the one thing that Taekwoon was scared of––being left alone. Taekwoon should tell him that he never saw him as family until he really needed it, that he was wrong for never telling him. 

He needs his family. 

Taekwoon wraps his arms around the older man. He presses his forehead to Heo’s shoulder, letting the tension unwind from his own as he sags against his mentor. 

Heo’s one arm comes up around Taekwoon’s back, and in his deep, grumbly voice, he says, “You two are really gonna mess me up, y’know that?” He coughs to cover up the cracking of his voice, but Taekwoon still hears it. He digs his fingers in tighter. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Heo says. “I…wasn’t here. I wasn’t there for you.”

Taekwoon feels himself start to tremble, spurred on by the waver in Heo’s voice, the feel of Heo’s strong hand on his back. Never before has he let him Heo hug him. He always watched his mentor give Jaehwan affectionate pats, tugging him in for one-armed hugs, but Taekwoon, even after all the years, never let him close the space between them. 

He was so stupid. He had a family this whole time. 

Taekwoon gasps, his shoulders shaking. 

A warmth comes up at his side, Jaehwan giggling in his ear. He throws his arms around Heo and Taekwoon, laughing as he pulls them tighter together. 

To complete the pile, Yeonju joins them from Taekwoon’s other side, rubbing her hand on the small of his back. “Silly boys,” she says. She kisses Taekwoon’s cheek, no doubt standing on her tip-toes to do it. 

“I love you all,” Taekwoon mumbles, still breathing in Heo’s travel-worn coat, the man’s scraggly hair scratching the side of his face. 

“Don’t cry,” Jaehwan coos. Taekwoon thinks it’s directed at him until he pulls his head up and sees his mentor rubbing his now-free shoulder against his cheek. 

There’s so much to say, so much to talk about, but for now, Taekwoon thinks this is enough. For this moment, he’s satisfied. Yeonju, Heo, and Jaehwan still hold him tight, surrounding him with all the love that he has ever needed. 

Far are thoughts of his mother, of her company, of the expectations she sets for him. Blood may connect them, but in that way alone. The months of impressing her, of trying to conform to her wishes so she would love him, pale in comparison to the love he feels right now, gathering strength from the ones who know him best, the ones who love him as he is. 

She no longer has a hold on him. 

Jaehwan drops an arm to take Taekwoon’s hand in his own. His eyes twinkle, and Taekwoon feels his heart stutter in his chest for the umpteenth time tonight. Holding Taekwoon’s eyes, Jaehwan loudly says, “Welcome home, everyone.” 

And Jaehwan’s right; they’ve all come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand that's it! that took so much longer than i thought. it took me slightly over a year to write this since i revisited this au, and it's been such an uphill battle! thanks to everyone who read along with the fic and those who held my hand during /many/ sessions of complaining about how hard writing is LOL (you know who you are). thank you all for sticking by the fic, leaving comments, and supporting me! i really appreciate it ♡


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